-X 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 


KK. 


The  Slava  Cake 

NOEL  L.  NISHET 


TALES  OF 

SERBIAN  LIFE 

BY 

E.  CHIVERS  DA  VIES 

AUTHOR   OF 
"A    FAKMER    IN   SERBIA"    AND    "A    LITTLE    SERBIAN    PHRASE    BOOK" 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

GILBERT  JAMES    WILLIAM  SEWELL 


AND 

NOEL  L.  NISBET 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,   MEAD   AND   COMPANY 


TO 

JOAN   AND   NANCY 


THE    RIVERSIDE    PRESS    LIMITED,    EDINBURGH 
GREAT     BRITAIN 


CONTENTS 

THE  LITTLE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

PAOB 

I.  THE  MAIKA  AND  HER  CHILDREN  n 

II.  A  VISIT  TO  BANJA  36 

III.  CHRISTMAS  AT  Novo  SELO  71 

THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

I.  ANDRIJA  LAZARAVITCH  107 

II.  THE  SLAVA  134 

III.  THE  SEEKING  157 

STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

I.  A  BETROTHAL  195 

II.  STEFAN'S  ADVENTURE  209 

III.  STEFAN'S  RETURN  230 


530  !H) ' 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


THE  SLAVA  CAKE  (Noel  L.  Nisbef]  Frontispiece 

MARKO  AND  THE  FAIRY  ( William  Sewell]  32 

"HERE    is    THE    SWORD   AND   THERE    THE   ANVIL" 

( William  Sewell)  66 

"WHAT  is  THE  CAUSE  THAT  THOU,  STILL  so  YOUNG, 

HAST  LOST  THY  HAPPINESS  ?  "  (  William  Sewell)  76 

CHRISTMAS  IN  A  SERBIAN  HOME  (Gilbert  James}  96 

HE  WILL  SHAKE  A  TREE  THREE  TIMES  (Gilbert  Jamt 's)  202 

STEFAN  WATCHED  THE  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER  TILL 

THEY  WERE  BOTH  OUT  OF  SIGHT  (  William  Sewell)          216 

THE  COLD  WINDS  BLEW  DOWN    FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS 

( William  Sewell]  232 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE  AT 
NOVO  SELO 


CHAPTER  I  :   THE  MAIKA  AND 
HER  CHILDREN 

IT  was  going  to  be  a  hot  day.  Marko  knew  that 
as  he  headed  his  procession  of  pigs  away  from 
the  maize-field  and  up  over  the  heath,  though 
the  mountains  were  still  covered  with  mist  and  the 
ground  wet  with  the  dew  of  the  night.  He  was 
yawning  a  little  as  he  picked  his  way  among  the 
briers,  for  he  had  been  up  before  four  o'clock  pump- 
ing water  for  his  mother,  Dobrilla  Yankovitch. 
Since  the  typhus  had  taken  his  father  from  the 
cottage  he  was  now  the  man  of  the  house,  and 
there  were  many  tasks  for  Marko's  willing  hands 
to  do. 

To-day  he  was  swineherd,  and  that  he  liked  perhaps 
best  of  all.  For  one  thing,  it  was  fine  to  be  free 
to  wander  all  through  the  summer  day;  and  up  in 
the  forests,  even  when  the  midday  sun  beat  fiercely 
on  the  hill-side,  there  were  cool  and  shady  places 
to  be  found. 

Working  on  the  maize-field  or  in  their  little  vine- 
yard was  no  joke  in  the  hot  days  of  a  Serbian 
summer,  and  Marko  thought  very  contentedly  of  the 
day  that  was  before  him  ;  for  the  pigs  were  little 
trouble,  and  if  he  felt  lazy,  as  he  did  sometimes, 
he  could  always  go  to  sleep  in  some  leafy,  shady 
spot,  sure  that  his  lean  and  active  charges  would  not 
stray  far  from  his  side. 

For  an  hour  or  so  he  went  slowly  on,  the  pigs 
trotting  ahead  of  him,  sometimes  tangling  them- 
selves in  the  briers  or  coming  to  grief  in  the  prickly 

ii 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

thorn  bushes  with  much  excited  grunting  and 
squealing.  Then  Marko  would  rap  a  few  of  the 
noisiest  ones  across  their  brown  curly  backs  and  the 
family  would  start  on  its  way  again.  Soon  the  forest 
path  began,  and  up,  up,  up  went  pigs  and  boy,  till 
the  blue  water  of  the  Morava,  twisting  like  a  snake 
between  the  folds  of  mountain,  showed  only  as  a 
shining  ribbon  from  the  heights  above.  It  was 
hard  climbing,  and  from  time  to  time  Marko  would 
stop,  leaning  on  his  thick  stick,  and  look  down  at 
the  valley  below  or  over  at  the  opposite  mountains. 
Only  their  tips  were  bare  of  timber  ;  all  the  lower 
slopes  were  thickly  covered  with  beech  and  oak 
trees.  Here  and  there  a  few  whitewashed  cottages 
showed,  their  heavy  thatched  roofs  sitting  squatly 
on  top  of  them,  but  they  were  so  far  away  that  even 
Marko's  keen  eyes,  trained  to  long  distances,  could 
barely  see  the  figures  of  people  working  in  the  fields 
around  them.  His  eyes  could  detect  little  groups 
of  cattle  or  goats  on  the  hills  near  him,  watched  by 
children  like  himself,  but  they  too  were  just  little 
specks  in  the  distance. 

Now  the  pigs  trotted  on  at  a  tremendous  pace,  for 
they  knew  that  they  were  in  the  forest  and  around 
them  great  stores  of  acorns.  And  since  there  was 
not  overmuch  food  for  them  in  the  house  of  Dobrilla 
Yankovitch,  small  wonder  that  young  hungry  pigs 
rejoiced  in  such  a  feast ! 

"  O  pigs  !  "  called  Marko,  "  come  back  and  do 
not  hurry  so.  There  is  all  day  before  you,  greedy 
ones,  and  I  am  hot." 

But  the  pigs  went  on  and  Marko  had  to  follow. 
12 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

To  add  to  his  discomfort,  the  plaited  thong  of  one 
of  his  leather  sandal  shoes  broke  right  across  and 
his  opanka  slipped  continually.  "  Plague  be  on  the 
thing  !  "  he  growled  crossly.  "  Now  I  must  mend 
you,  and  that  is  a  long  night's  work,  since  there  is 
no  money  for  new  ones.  Still,  if  the  pigs  bring  good 
prices  perhaps  the  Maika  will  remember  that  I  have 
been  a  good  son  to  her/' 

And  he  laughed  a  little  at  that,  for  really  he  was 
not  a  vain  boy — and  also  his  foot  did  look  funny 
slipping  about  inside  the  loose  opanka,  which  in  any 
case  was  too  big  for  him,  as  well  it  might  be,  since 
he  was  wearing  a  pair  of  his  father's. 

So  he  took  them  off  and  slung  them  over  his 
shoulder  with  his  leather  wallet  in  which  Dobrilla 
had  put  his  midday  meal  and  trotted  along  far  more 
happily  on  his  bare  brown  feet.  But  Bozhe  ! l  the  sun 
was  hot  even  though  it  was  September,  and  Marko 
pulled  the  black  felt  hat  farther  down  over  his  eyes 
so  that  only  the  tip  of  his  nose  and  his  red  lips  were 
visible.  Still,  when  the  youngest  of  the  last  litter  of 
pigs  slid  on  a  slippery  patch  of  moss  and  sat  down 
firmly  on  his  little  curly  tail,  then  you  might  have 
seen  Marko's  white  teeth  flash  out  in  the  smile  that 
always  made  his  mother  say  to  herself  :  "  It  is  now 
that  I  see  my  man  Marko  looking  from  his  son's  face." 

Often,  very  often,  Dobrilla  Maika  would  say  to  her 
children  :  "I  have  four  good  children  and  all  are 
very  dear  to  me,  but  it  is  for  Marko  to  remember 
that  he  is  like  his  father  who  is  now  with  the  saints 
in  heaven.  And  he  must  be  strong  and  brave  like 

1  Boske  f  may  be  freely  translated  "  Heavens  ! "    Literally, "  Oh,  God  !  " 

13 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

the  great  Marko  Kraljevitch,  Marko  the  King's 
son,  whose  name  he  bears  and  whose  story  he 
knows." 

And  then  the  boy  always  felt  very  proud,  for 
Marko  Kraljevitch  was  a  very  famous  person  indeed, 
and  you  shall  hear  his  story  too  one  evening  when 
we  are  sitting  round  the  hearth  with  Maika  Yanko- 
vitch  and  her  children. 

Meantime  Marko  and  his  pigs  were  equally  happy 
in  the  forest,  the  pigs  grunting  and  rooting  about 
for  acorns  and  the  boy  lying  on  his  back,  a  straight 
little  figure  in  white  linen  tunic  and  trousers,  his 
big  felt  hat  pushed  over  his  eyes.  He  was  staring 
at  the  white  clouds  that  came  and  went  across  the 
blue  sky,  sniffing  the  different  wood  scents,  the  cistus 
and  thyme  of  the  hill-side,  and  admiring  the  lovely 
reds  and  yellows  of  the  turning  leaves,  gay  with  their 
autumn  tints. 

For  Marko,  like  all  Serbian  children,  and  grown- 
ups too,  loved  beautiful  colours  and  sounds,  although 
he  didn't  talk  much  about  them  to  anyone.  So  he 
lay  on  his  back  and  thought  how  quiet  it  was,  and 
wondered  how  the  tree-felling  on  the  opposite  moun- 
tain was  going  along,  and  listened  for  the  sound 
of  the  axe.  And  he  thought  of  the  apple  crop  in 
their  little  orchard  over  at  Novo  Selo,  and  wondered 
when  they  would  begin  to  cut  the  maize,  and  if  the 
pumpkins  were  really  ripe,  and  what  prices  the  pigs 
would  fetch  if  he  took  them  to  Banja. 

He  thought  a  good  deal  about  those  pigs.  For 
one  thing,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether 
the  old  brown  sow's  litter  was  better  than  the  one 
14 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

belonging  to  the  crop-eared  mother.  And  would 
they  be  able  to  keep  one,  just  one,  for  their  Christmas 
dinner  ?— for  at  Christmas  even  the  poorest  Serb  eats 
pig  if  he  can  scrape  up  the  money  to  buy  it.  Also 
how  many  would  they  need  to  keep  for  the  winter's 
supply  of  dried  meat  ?  In  the  days  when  Marko's 
father  was  alive  they  were  not  so  poor,  for  there  was 
a  man's  strength  to  till  the  maize-field  and  fell  the 
timber  and  plant  the  vines.  Of  course  they  had 
never  been  rich,  not  rich  like  the  Ilitchs,  who  had 
so  many  maize-fields  and  vineyards,  oxen,  and 
even  horses,  that  Marko  thought  of  them  as  being 
able  to  buy  anything  in  the  world  they  wanted — 
even  things  out  of  the  wonderful  shops  in  Banja 
—and  that  was  as  far  as  Marko's  knowledge  of  shops 
went. 

But  they  were  not  poor  in  those  days,  not  as  they 
were  now,  when  everything  seemed  hard,  and  Marko 
longed  impatiently  for  the  time  when  he  should  be 
as  strong  as  his  big,  quiet  father,  who  could  carry 
great  logs  as  if  they  had  been  feathers  and  work 
tirelessly  all  day  in  the  fields. 

Oh,  indeed  Marko  was  full  of  plans  for  the  day 
when  he  should  be  a  man,  and  remembering  hopefully 
that  he  had  beaten  big  Branislav  in  a  wrestling 
match  only  the  other  day,  he  thought  that  that  time 
could  not  be  very  far  away. 

From  the  great  heights  of  his  twelve  years  he 
scarcely  considered  the  other  children,  though  indeed 
Ivanka  was  very  helpful  to  the  dear  Maika  and  fat 
six-year-old  Drago  was  quite  a  useful  person  too. 
Of  course  Chedda  did  not  count,  for  he  was  hardly 

15 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

more  than  a  baby,  just  able  to  crawl  about  and  suck 
his  fat  thumbs. 

Therefore  it  was  perhaps  no  great  wonder  that 
Marko  did  feel  himself  to  be  the  man  of  the  house, 
and  that  was  why  he  thought  so  hard  as  he  lay  on 
his  back  staring  up  at  the  sky.  But  of  course  it 
isn't  very  easy  for  a  healthy  boy  who  has  been  up 
since  daybreak,  and  who  is  lying  on  a  very  cosy 
bed  of  soft  moss,  to  keep  on  thinking  all  day— 
particularly  when  he  has  eaten  a  big  slab  of 
maize  bread  and  some  goat's  cheese  and  a  handful 
of  apples  ! 

So  it  happened  that  presently  Marko  Js  eyes  closed, 
and  by  and  by  they  stayed  shut  and  he  slept  soundly 
for  quite  a  long  time.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
sun  was  beginning  to  alter  the  purple  shadows  on  the 
mountain-side,  that  the  pigs  had  strayed  quite  out 
of  sight,  and  that  a  wandering  dog  was  snuffing  at 
his  wallet — indeed,  he  might  have  slept  till  evening 
if  some  one  had  not  shaken  him  lightly  by  the 
shoulder  and  called,  "  Marko  !  wake  up,  wake  up, 
lazy  one  !  "  in  his  ear. 

He  sat  up  with  a  little  grunt ;  then,  "  Oh,  so  it  is 
you,  Ivanka,"  he  said,  looking  sleepily  at  his  sister. 
"  How  did  you  come  here,  and  why  am  I  so  hungry  ?  " 
Then,  seeing  the  dog,  "  And  you  would  try  to  rob 
me,  would  you  ?  "  and  he  pushed  it  away  from  his 
wallet,  where  was  still  a  precious  lump  of  bread. 

'  Yes,  little  brother ;  and  I  am  come  because  Maika 
wants  you  to  hurry  home.  My  father's  brother  is  in 
from  Vrntse,  and  my  cousin  too,  and  they  will  help 
to  cut  the  maize  perhaps  to-night,  if  you  will  help. 
16 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

And  there  is  trouble  too,  for  the  white  cow  has  strayed 
and  we  cannot  find  her." 

Ivanka  had  a  pretty  voice  and  she  lisped  a  little, 
so  that  people  said  her  speech  was  like  the  twittering 
of  birds  in  the  trees  ;  but  Marko  was  not  listening 
to  that,  he  was  thinking  of  the  white  cow  which  had 
strayed,  and  remembering  that  -while  he  had  been 
planning  all  the  great  things  he  was  to  do  when  he 
was  a  man  he  had  in  the  meantime  forgotten  all 
about  the  pigs  and  they  had  strayed  too  ! 

"  Come  quickly,  Ivanka,"  he  said ;  "we  must 
find  the  pigs  before  we  go  home  ;  and  I  am  hungry 
too — there  is  a  great  basin,  it  seems,  inside  me, 
and  little  time  to  fill  it.  But  the  pigs  I  must  find 
quickly." 

And  he  started  round  the  bend  of  the  hill,  Ivanka 
trotting  after  him.  She  was  just  a  little  copy  of  her 
tall  mother,  with  her  tight  cotton  bodice  and  full 
pleated  woollen  skirt  reaching  to  her  bare  brown 
ankles  and  bunched  round  her  childish  waist,  and 
a  gay  yellow  handkerchief  tied  over  her  braided 
hair. 

Like  all  Serbian  girls,  of  course  she  had  her  fine 
festival  dress,  but  only  the  bright  handkerchief  and 
the  blue  beads  round  her  neck  gave  colour  to  the 
sober  workaday  clothes  of  little  Ivanka.  In  her 
hand  she  carried  the  purple  stocking  at  which  her 
fingers  were  so  busy ;  for  already  Ivanka  could  knit 
nearly  as  quickly  as  her  mother,  though  as  yet  it 
was  left  for  the  Maika's  fingers  to  embroider  the  top 
of  the  stocking  in  brilliant  wool,  with  red  roses  and 
yellow  trees  in  cross-stitch  and  darning. 

B  17 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Happily  for  Marko's  peace  of  mind  the  pigs  had 
not  gone  far,  and  they  were  soon  discovered  rooting 
among  the  oaks  just  a  little  distance  away.  Then 
the  two  set  off  on  their  homeward  journey,  Ivanka 
knitting  busily  as  she  walked  and  Marko  trilling  out 
snatches  of  song  like  a  young  lark. 

Soon  they  passed  the  familiar  landmarks  and  came 
quickly  down  the  slope  of  the  hill  below  which  lay 
the  cottage  of  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  and  her  four 
children.  Down  past  the  crumbling  vine-terraces, 
for  alas !  since  big  Marko  had  left  them  there  had 
been  too  much  work  for  his  widow's  hands  for  the 
vines  to  receive  all  the  care  they  needed  in  such  a 
brier- entangled  country  as  this — so  unlike  the  fruit- 
ful slopes  of  the  Danube  lands  which  Dobrilla  herself 
remembered  as  her  childhood's  home.  But  the 
orchard  before  the  whitewashed  cottage,  with  its 
heavy  thatch  roof,  was  full  of  good  trees,  and  the 
apples  weighed  the  branches  down  and  cried  out  to 
be  picked  and  stored.  Maika  was  standing  at  the 
door  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand  against  the  sun, 
Chedda  in  her  arms  and  Drago  tugging  at  her  skirt, 
while  old  Matchka,  the  house  cat,  played  with  her 
two  kittens,  Mitsu  and  Mitsi,  at  her  feet. 

Dobrilla  smiled  down  at  her  children  and  patted  the 
yellow  handkerchief  as  Ivanka  nestled  to  her  side,  and 
answered  the  little  daughter's  first  question  : 

'  Yes,  my  Ivanka,  the  white  cow  is  found ;  she 
had  been  driven  off  by  that  dog  of  Vassila  Petrovitch's, 
who  is  an  evil  dog  and  should  be  beaten.  And  here 
is  Marko,  my  big  son,"  she  said,  as  he  came  round 
from  the  other  side  of  the  house,  after  putting  his  pigs 
18 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

into  the  rough  shelter,  thatch-covered,  which  served 
them  for  sty.  "  To-day  the  father's  brother  is  here, 
and  he  and  thy  cousin  Petar  will  sleep  with  us  to- 
night ;  then  to-morrow  we  shall  cut  the  kukurus — 
all,  Maika  and  the  big  uncle,  Marko  and  Petar,  even 
Drago  shall  go.  But  Ivanka  will  stay  with  Chedda, 
will  she  not,  to  care  for  the  small  one  ?  Or  shall 
Chedda  go  too,  to  ride  on  the  kola  and  fill  it  with 
pumpkins  ?  Eh,  my  fat  son  ?  "  as  she  tossed  the 
baby  up. 

"  Chedda  shall  go  too  or  I  will  not !  "  cried 
Drago.  "  All  shall  go,  and  I  will  have  my  sickle 
the  sharpest  of  all,  and  Ivanka  shall  carry  the 
pumpkins  and  put  them  on  the  kola.  All  must  go, 
for  there  is  much  work  and  need  for  all — women 
as  well  as  men." 

"  And  thou  a  man  !  "  laughed  his  tall  mother.  "  And 
I  who  work  as  two  men  since  the  father  is  gone." 
Turning  away,  she  went  into  the  house  to  prepare 
the  evening  meal,  but  first  she  gave  Chedda  into 
the  care  of  Ivanka,  his  second  Maika.  Her  careful 
little  arms  had  held  him  since  he  was  a  tiny  baby, 
and  he  laughed  and  chattered  baby  talk  to  her  now 
till  the  big  uncle,  Ivan  Yankovitch,  and  his  son  Petar 
came  up  from  the  inspection  of  the  field  they  were 
to  cut. 

Petar  shouted  a  gay  greeting  to  his  cousins,  and 
Ivan  Yankovitch  took  Marko  by  the  shoulders  and 
turned  him  round  to  the  light.  The  Maika  came  out 
of  the  house  as  she  heard  her  brother-in-law  coming, 
and  it  was  to  her  that  he  spoke  rather  than  to  the 
children. 

19 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  A  fine  young  ox  enough,  and  he  grows  apace/' 
he  said,  measuring  the  boy's  strength  with  his  keen 
eyes.  "  He  has  the  face  of  his  father,  Dobrilla 
Yankovitch,  more  than  the  others,  though  that  one," 
pointing  to  Drago,  who  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
stood  at  his  full  height,  "  will  make  a  good  soldier 
and  a  big  man  if  he  does  not  eat  too  much  ratluk." 
This  evoked  screams  of  joy  from  Drago,  who  knew 
that  such  a  speech  most  probably  meant  that  in  his 
uncle's  pocket  there  would  be  a  box  of  that  delicious 
sweetmeat,  which  though  you  and  I  call  it  Turkish 
delight  is  just  as  nice  for  Serbian  children  under  the 
name  of  ratluk. 

Uncle  Ivan  only  patted  Ivanka  kindly  on  the  head 
and  said  she  was  growing  a  big  girl,  but  he  tossed 
baby  Chedda  up  in  his  arms,  saying :  "  And  thou, 
mali  one,  shalt  do  whatever  it  please  thee  with  thy 
old  uncle,  who  has  no  lesser  one  in  his  house  than 
that  great  fellow  there/'  By  whom,  of  course,  he 
meant  Petar,  who  stood  grinning  in  the  background. 
Soon  Petar  dragged  Marko  off  to  give  the  horses 
their  supper,  for  he  had  ridden  over  with  his  father 
from  their  own  village  early  that  morning.  It  was 
many  kilometres  from  the  little  village  of  Novo  Selo, 
where  Marko's  mother  lived,  to  Retka,  where  Ivan 
Yankovitch  had  his  home.  Marko's  uncle  was  a 
rich  man  with  a  big  flour-mill,  besides  his  house  and 
many  maize-fields  and  vineyards,  so  that  he  was  well 
able  to  keep  horses  to  ride.  Of  course,  like  every 
Serb  boy,  Marko  dearly  loved  horses  and  could  ride 
anything  that  was  ever  foaled,  but  he  did  not  very 
often  get  a  chance  nowadays.  So  he  went  off  with 

20 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

great  alacrity  to  see  the  two  who  were  now  guests 
of  theirs  for  the  night. 

In  the  meantime  Uncle  Ivan  was  smoking  his 
endless  cigarettes  on  the  little  bench  outside  the 
house,  and  Dobrilla  Maika  was  busy  with  the  supper, 
happy  with  his  praise  of  her  children. 

Of  course  Ivan  Yankovitch,  though  he  was  very 
fond  of  his  brother's  children,  secretly  thought  that 
no  one  in  the  world  could  compare  with  his  own  tall 
Petar,  his  daughter  Draga,  whom  all  the  young  men 
in  her  village  were  wishful  to  seek  in  marriage,  and 
his  eldest  son  Andreas,  who  was  now  a  corporal  in 
the  army.  But  he  did  not  say  all  this,  only  thought 
it  quietly  in  his  own  mind. 

It  was  a  good  thing  they  all  remained  outside  while 
the  Maika  was  so  busy  bustling  about  inside,  for 
really  there  was  not  very  much  room  in  the  house. 
Like  all  the  other  houses  of  Novo  Selo,  there  was  no 
'  upstairs  '  ;  only  a  big  space  between  the  rafters 
and  the  peaked  thatch  roof  served  as  a  kind  of  attic 
store-room  where  Dobrilla  kept  most  of  her  treasures 
and  her  winter  stores  of  food.  There  were  two  big 
nails  driven  into  one  of  the  wall-posts,  so  that  an 
agile  person  could  easily  climb  up,  displace  a  loose 
board,  and  get  right  into  the  roof  if  he  wished. 
Here  lay  piles  of  maize  cobs,  for  there  was  not  much 
space  for  storing  ground  flour,  and  in  Serbian  peasant 
houses  there  is  always  a  stone  hand-mill  to  grind  up 
the  maize  as  it  is  needed.  Here  too  were  potatoes, 
pumpkins  and  melons,  strings  of  onions  and  leeks; 
and  a  precious  little  store  of  sugar  and  coffee,  salt  and 
suchlike — practically  the  only  things  in  the  way  of 

21 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

food  which  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  had  to  buy,  for 
everything  else  they  grew  or  reared  themselves  on 
their  own  bits  of  land. 

Up  in  the  roof  too  were  kept  the  spare  cups  and 
saucers,  forks  and  spoons  and  knives  ;  and  to-day 
Dobrilla. was  in  a  great  bustle  of  preparation,  that 
nothing  might  be  lacking  to  do  honour  to  her 
husband's  brother  and  his  son. 

There  was  not  very  much  furniture  in  the  room, 
and  most  of  it  had  been  made  by  her  husband's 
hands— the  heavy  table,  the  chairs,  the  coffer  in 
which  the  festival  clothes  were  kept  ;  and  in  one 
corner  was  the  great  bed  carved  and  decorated  in 
which  she  and  the  younger  children  slept.  Now 
she  hastily  threw  the  finest  coverlet  over  the 
blankets  and  brought  out  her  embroidered  linen 
pillows.  In  the  second  room  there  stood  another 
bed,  a  stool  or  two,  and  the  big  hand-loom  at  which 
Dobrilla  Yankovitch  wove  the  flax  and  wool  into 
clothes  for  herself  and  her  children.  The  floor  of 
both  the  rooms  was  of  beaten  earth,  and  the  only 
carpet  hung  in  what  you  or  I  would  think  rather  a 
strange  place— that  is,  on  the  whitewashed  wall. 
But  a  bright-coloured  rug  is  regarded  by  all  the 
people  in  the  countries  we  call  the  Balkan  States 
as  something  far  too  nice  to  be  trodden  underfoot, 
so  they  take  care  to  hang  it  up  where  every  one  can 
admire  it.  Really  it  is  a  good  idea,  and  makes  the 
rooms  look  very  pretty.  Rich  people  have  many 
of  these  carpets,  some  of  which  are  very  beautiful. 
Maika  had  only  one,  but  she  put  it  in  a  good  place, 
and  it  gave  a  very  nice  party-like  look  to  her  room. 
22 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

Near  the  door  stood  the  big  stove,  on  the  top  of 
which  various  copper  pots  gave  out  a  delicious  steamy 
odour,  which  made  Drago  wrinkle  up  his  nose  like 
a  hungry  little  puppy. 

There  was  a  big  oven,  of  course,  in  which  the  flat 
cakes  of  kukurus  were  baked  into  that  solid,  satisfying 
mass  which  will  take  the  edge  off  even  the  wolf- 
hunger  of  little  Serbian  boys  and  girls  who  are  busy 
all  the  time.  The  walls  looked  gay  with  long  strings 
of  bright  red  peppercorns  hanging  up  to  dry;  and 
here  and  there  long  hanks  of  flax  and  hemp,  ready 
dyed,  or  waiting  to  be  dyed  and  spun  when  Dobrilla 
Yankovitch  should  find  a  moment's  leisure  for  her 
busy  hands. 

In  one  corner  was  her  distaff,  leaning  against 
Chedda's  big  cradle,  which  stood  beneath  the  bracket 
on  which  burned  a  tiny  lamp  before  the  picture  of 
the  patron  saint  of  the  family. 

There  were  a  few  cactus  plants  in  flower,  for  Maika 
dearly  loved  growing  blossoms  in  her  little  house. 
She  was  a  native  of  the  North — it  was  a  rare  thing 
for  a  man  like  Marko  the  Silent  to  marry  so  far  away 
from  his  own  district,  but  they  were  kindred  on  the 
mother's  side — and  used  as  she  was  to  the  more 
luxuriant  growth  of  vine  and  flower  which  one  finds 
in  the  Danube  lands,  she  had  often  in  the  early  days 
of  her  married  life  found  the  mountains  and  the 
great  forests  dark  and  cold  and  missed  the  bright 
clothes  and  gayer  flowers  of  her  own  village. 

That  perhaps  was  why  she  knitted  all  their  stock- 
ings in  the  most  vivid  colours  her  dyes  could  make 
the  sheep's  wool  take,  and  why  she  loved  to  see  the 

23 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

little  Drago  pluck  a  sunflower  from  the  patch  which 
grew  beside  the  well  and  stick  it  behind  his  ear  in 
imitation  of  his  big  brother.  Indeed,  her  thoughts 
were  busy  over  these  things  as  she  made  the  supper 
—and  oh,  how  good  it  smelt  as  she  poured  the  soup 
into  the  earthenware  platters  ! 

"Come,  children/'  she  called,  "come  quickly; 
and  thou,  Ivan  Yankovitch,  come  and  eat  now,  for 
it  is  late/'  And  in  they  ran  like  homing  bees. 

Maika  gazed  anxiously  at  Uncle  Ivan's  face  as  he 
tasted  her  good  soup  with  its  thickening  of  beans 
and  onions,  for  she  was  aware  that  in  his  own  home 
there  was  always  wonderful  cooking ;  but  he  smacked 
his  lips  appreciatively  over  the  stew  and  she  knew 
that  her  guest  was  pleased  with  his  supper. 

There  was  good  pork  following,  for  to-night's 
supper  was  to  be  a  great  one,  and  there  were  beans 
seasoned  well  with  garlic,  and  great  slabs  of  goat's 
cheese  to  eat  with  the  bread  of  kukurus — a  supper  fit 
for  a  king,  as  Marko  thought,  as  he  sat  on  his  little 
square  stool  by  his  mother's  side. 

There  was  some  of  the  last  year's  vintage  to  drink ; 
but  Uncle  Ivan  liked  better  the  fiery  rakija,  which 
Marco  never  tasted  without  making  a  wry  face  and 
wondering  that  grown  men  liked  it  so  much.  Petar 
got  his  down  well  enough,  but  then  he  was  sixteen 
and  big  for  his  age. 

When  the  meal  was  over  Chedda  and  Drago  were 
put  into  the  big  bed  and  covered  over  with  the  coarse 
brown  blankets,  but  Ivanka  pulled  her  little  stool 
to  her  mother's  knee  by  the  open  door  in  the  cool 
dusk,  while  Uncle  Ivan  took  his  place  again  on  the 
24 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

bench  beneath  the  window  and  smoked  his  eternal 
cigarettes.  Marko  pulled  down  a  strip  of  hide 
from  the  little  store  hanging  from  a  nail  behind  the 
door  and  began  whittling  at  it  to  make  it  the  right 
width  for  his  opanka  strap.  Petar  alone  was  idle ; 
but  presently,  as  he  sat  lazily  teasing  the  cat,  he 
began  to  hum  softly,  and  soon  his  beautiful  voice 
rose  up  in  the  quiet  air  and  for  a  long  hour  he  sang 
the  songs  he  knew.  Very  many  songs  he  sang,  some 
of  them  gay  and  rollicking,  the  music  the  soldiers 
sing  as  they  march,  some  of  them  laughing  little 
songs  which  sounded  like  the  birds  in  the  trees  or 
the  rivers  running  over  the  big  stones.  But  most  of 
them  were  rather  quiet  songs,  which  did  not  make 
very  much  noise,  but  which  made  you  think,  if 
you  listened  to  them,  of  beautiful  starry  nights,  of 
mothers  singing  their  babies  to  sleep,  of  the  wind  in 
the  trees,  and  of  people  you  loved  very  much  being 
near  to  you,  so  that  if  you  were  lonely  you  could 
touch  their  hand  in  the  darkness. 

And  some  were  so  beautiful  that  they  gave  you  a 
kind  of  aching  lump  in  your  throat,  and  yet  you 
wanted  them  to  go  on  and  on  and  never  stop. 

Uncle  Ivan  sat  on  his  bench  in  the  growing 
darkness,  and  you  could  just  have  seen  his  head 
nodding  in  time  to  the  measures  of  the  song  when 
the  tiny  glow-worm  of  his  cigarette  lit  up  the  darkness. 
Ivanka  pressed  close  to  her  mother's  side,  and  Marko 
sat  with  his  arms  clasped  round  his  knees,  forgetting 
everything  as  Serbs  do  forget  when  they  hear  beauti- 
ful music  or  listen  to  the  wonderful  poems  of  their 
own  history. 

25 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Marko  could  not  read,  but  he  never  forgot  anything 
he  heard  repeated  more  than  once,  and  his  small 
head  was  stuffed  with  endless  stories  and  legends 
of  his  own  country,  which  he  could  tell  by  the  hour 
together. 

Petar  sang  till  he  could  sing  no  more,  then  he  got 
up  and  yawned  frankly. 

"  Bozhet  but  I  am  tired/'  he  said.  "Will  my 
father  permit  that  I  go  to  my  bed?  "  And  indeed 
they  were  all  very  willing,  for  now  that  the  magical 
voice  was  quiet  every  one  felt  suddenly  how  tired 
they  were  too,  and  it  does  not  do  to  sit  up  too  late 
when  you  must  rise  before  the  sun  ! 

Although  Maika  Yankovitch  was  so  tall  she  could 
move  very  quietly,  and  next  morning  she  pumped 
water  for  the  morning  coffee,  lit  the  stove,  and 
prepared  the  bowls  of  hot  milk  without  waking  the 
guests  in  the  inner  room.  Marko  shared  the  other 
big  bed  with  his  uncle  and  cousin,  so  his  mother  did 
not  wake  him  to  help  her,  as  she  usually  did. 

All  the  same  he  soon  came  running  in  with  a  gay 
"  Dobro  jiitro,"  which  means  '  Good-morning/  to 
his  mother,  and  he  amused  Chedda  till  they  were 
ready  for  the  start.  Maika  brought  out  the  two  big 
patient  oxen,  and  Petar  and  Marko  were  there  to 
help  her  as  she  backed  the  big  creatures  into  their 
places,  adjusted  the  yoke,  and  pushed  home  the 
wooden  pin  which  held  the  yoke  in  position.  There 
was  plenty  of  room  in  the  kola  for  the  children,  and 
Ivanka  saw  that  there  was  a  supply  of  fresh  cold 
water  and  a  skin  of  wine  to  take  for  the  thirsty 
hours  of  the  day. 
26 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

Maika  walked  beside  the  creaking  kola  with  her 
goad  to  hasten  the  slow  steps  of  the  oxen — though 
little  short  of  an  earthquake  could  make  them  hurry. 
Still,  they  covered  the  ground  at  an  even,  steady  pace, 
which  ate  up  the  miles  more  readily  than  you  would 
believe,  and  it  was  no  great  distance  to  the  field 
where  the  maize  had  to  be  cut.  In  the  kola  the 
children  laughed  and  chattered  like  little  magpies, 
and  Dobrilla  Yankovitch's  face  was  happy  under 
the  black  handkerchief  which  every  Serbian  peasant 
widow  wears  on  her  head  instead  of  the  gay-coloured 
ones  that  are  so  much  prettier.  She  was  happy  in 
her  children's  happiness,  and  that  is  the  way  most 
Serbian  women  find  their  life's  enjoyment. 

The  maize-field  was  not  a  very  large  one,  but  the 
crop  was  good  and  there  was  plenty  of  work  before 
them,  even  though  quite  a  number  of  neighbours, 
following  out  a  good  old  Serbian  custom,  had  come 
to  help  to  gather  in  the  harvest  of  a  woman  who  had 
no  husband  to  help  her. 

Every  one  liked  Dobrilla  Yankovitch,  moreover, 
even  though  in  a  sense  she  was  a  stranger,  because 
she  had  not  been  born  in  the  village  or  neighbouring 
district,  but  had  come  from  another  part  of  Serbia 
to  make  her  married  life  among  them. 

Many  of  the  older  people  had  never  been  more 
than  ten  miles  from  their  own  house,  and  though  the 
younger  men  had  journeyed  farther,  their  wives  and 
daughters  seldom  went  beyond  Banja,  the  tiny  town 
where  they  took  their  fruit  and  eggs  to  sell  to  the 
visitors  who  came  in  the  summer  months  to  take  its 
baths  or  drink  the  queer-tasting  waters  which  bubbled 

27 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

up  from  the  ground.  But  still,  even  if  they  did  not 
go  far  from  their  homes,  they  had  a  great  deal  to 
talk  about,  and  they  talked  even  when  they  were 
working,  and  made  little  jokes  about  each  other, 
all  very  good-tempered  and  laughing. 

The  oxen  browsed  under  the  trees  and  the  babies 
played  in  the  shade  of  the  tilted  carts,  while  their 
brothers  and  fathers  bent  with  a  will  over  their  work. 
How  the  September  sun  beat  down  on  them  !  and 
how  thankful  they  all  were  for  the  long  cool  draughts 
of  sour  wine  which  the  older  children  carried  round 
to  them  from  time  to  time  ! 

In  among  the  tall  maize  stalks  the  golden  pumpkins 
had  ripened  during  the  summer,  and  there  was  soon 
a  goodly  heap  ready  to  pile  on  the  kola  at  the  end  of 
the  day. 

For  an  hour  or  two  when  the  sun  was  at  its  hottest 
every  one  came  to  rest  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  and 
eat  their  frugal  meal  of  bread  and  goat's  cheese  or 
salt  pork,  washed  down  by  some  of  the  thin  red  wine 
which  each  family  made  from  its  own  vines. 

Then  they  were  hard  at  work  again  till  evening, 
when  the  neighbours  said  '  Good-bye  '  to  grateful 
Dobrilla  Yankovitch,  promising  to  help  her  again 
the  next  day  till  they  should  have  cut  all  the  maize 
and  carried  it  for  her,  and  she  with  her  children 
prepared  to  go  home.  Uncle  Ivan  and  Petar  could 
not  go  back  with  them,  for  they  were  obliged  to 
return  to  Retka  to  see  to  their  own  harvesting ;  and 
moreover  there  was  the  big  mill,  which  could  not  be 
left  long  to  take  care  of  itself. 

When  the  time  for  their  return  arrived  the  oxen 
28 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

were  yoked  again,  and  this  time  Maika  sat  on  the 
piled-up  kola,  full  of  the  golden  fruits,  with  Chedda 
on  her  knee — a  very  cross,  sleepy  Chedda  by  this 
time.  Ivanka  held  Drago  safely  from  tumbling  out 
at  the  back,  and  Marko  guided  the  bullocks,  singing 
as  he  went  a  long,  long  song  all  about  his  hero  Marko 
Kraljevitch  and  his  magic  horse  Sharats. 

Soon  they  were  home,  and  Maika  carried  the 
sleepy  Chedda  to  his  bed  and  made  the  supper  for 
the  others,  while  Marko  stabled  the  bullocks. 

'  That  was  a  fine  field/'  he  said  to  his  mother  after 
supper,  "  and  there  will  be  as  much  more  to  cut 
to-morrow.  Shall  we  after  that  gather  the  apples, 
my  mother  ?  or  must  I  first  get  wood  enough  for 
the  winter  ?  ' 

Maika  sighed  a  little,  for  truly  there  was  so  much 
work  before  her  that  she  scarcely  knew  on  which 
part  of  it  to  begin. 

Even  when  there  was  no  work  in  the  fields  there 
were  the  sheep  and  goats,  the  oxen  and  milk-cows 
to  be  cared  for,  the  hens  to  be  fed,  and  the  vegetable 
ground  to  be  looked  after,  to  say  nothing  of  work 
in  the  house.  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  made  the  dyes 
with  which  she  tinted  the  shorn  fleece  of  her  sheep 
and  the  hemp  and  flax  which  she  wove  into  household 
necessities  and  clothing  for  the  family.  She  baked 
the  bread  and  pressed  the  grapes,  made  the  cheeses 
and  salted  the  pork,  cooked  the  meals  and  washed 
the  clothes  in  the  stream,  pounding  them  with  big 
stones  till  they  were  clean  and  rinsing  them  in  the 
running  water. 

Every  garment  the  family  wore  was  made  by  clever 

29 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Maika ;  and,  dear,  dear,  what  dreadful  children  they 
were  for  tearing  their  clothes  and  wearing  them  out ! 
But,  as  the  old  Serb  peasants  say,  "  Who  does  not 
mend  old  clothes  will  never  wear  new  ones,"  and 
there  was  always  plenty  of  that  to  do  when  Maika 
was  not  busy  elsewhere  !  So  she  smiled  at  Marko 
as  he  clamoured  for  more  work  to  settle  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  wise  to  make  an 
end  of  the  harvesting  with  the  help  of  our  good  neigh- 
bours before  planning  out  another  year's  labour  ? 
For,"  she  added,  "  my  maika  used  to  tell  me  when 
I  was  a  little  child  that  it  was  better  not  to  begin 
than  not  to  finish." 

And  with  that  Marko  had  to  be  content,  so  he 
set  to  work  again  on  his  leather  shoe-strap,  and 
the  Maika,  seeing  Ivanka's  little  fingers  busy  at  her 
knitting  by  the  door,  brought  out  her  chair  and  sat 
down  between  them. 

'  Tell  Drago  a  story,"  suddenly  came  from  the 
baby  boy,  who,  tired  of  playing  with  his  favourite 
kitten,  had  crawled  on  all  fours  to  his  mother's  feet 
and  busied  himself  with  tangling  the  flax  she  was 
combing.  "  Tell  Drago  the  story  of  the  fairy  who 
pierced  the  throat  of  Milosh  with  her  golden  arrow." 

"  Oh,  Drago,  that  is  a  stupid  story  !  "  cried  Marko. 
"  I  like  better  the  one  where  Marko  Kraljevitch 
fights  the  great  Moossa.  Tell  us  that  one  again, 
Maika." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ivanka;  "  tell  the  tale  of  the  Maid 
of  Kossovo.  That  is  a  pretty  story  ;  much  prettier 
than  thine,  Marko." 

'  Which  shall  it  be  ?  "  said  Dobrilla  Yankovitch. 
30 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

"  Shall  it  not  be  that  the  littlest  one  shall  have  his 
story  to-night,  for  truly  he  has  been  a  brave  boy  all 
the  day,  and  with  his  own  fat  arms  has  he  carried 
great  pumpkins  to  the  kola  bigger  than  his  own  head !  " 

"  Good/'  the  others  agreed.  "  It  shall  be  as  Maika 
says,  and  to-night  Drago  shall  have  his  story/' 

"  But  all  the  same  it  shall  be  Moossa  to-morrow/' 
Marko  said  under  his  breath. 

"  And  I  say  '  The  Maid/  This  in  a  very  low 
voice  from  Ivanka,  but  Maika  pretended  not  to  hear. 
Sometimes  it  is  best  when  mothers  do  not  seem  to 
hear  quite  everything  their  children  say. 

So,  picking  up  Drago  and  putting  him  in  such  a 
place  that  he  could  not  do  further  mischief  among 
her  flax,  the  Maika  began.  The  children  had  heard 
the  story  of  Prince  Marko  and  the  Fairy  many  times 
before,  but  they  loved  it  just  the  same,  or  even 
better,  for  that. 

THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  MARKO  AND 
THE  FAIRY 

Once  Kraljevitch  Marko  was  riding  through  the 
mountains  with  his  adopted  brother  Milosh.  Marko 
had  his  beautiful  piebald  horse  Sharats,  and  the 
horse  of  Milosh  trotted  in  step  with  Sharats,  and 
Marko  and  Milosh  were  both  carrying  their  lances  in 
their  hands.  Suddenly  Marko  felt  sleepy  and  began 
to  nod  over  his  horse's  neck,  but  rousing  himself 
he  said  to  Milosh  :  "  O  my  brother  Milosh,  a  heavi- 
ness of  sleep  is  coming  over  me.  Canst  thou  sing 
me  something  so  that  I  may  keep  awake  ?  " 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Milosh  answered  his  brother,  saying :  "  O  my 
brother  Kraljevitch  Marko,  how  gladly  would  I  sing 
to  thee,  but  I  drank  a  cup  of  wine  in  the  mountain 
from  the  hands  of  the  Fairy  of  the  Mountain,  and  she 
threatened  me  that  if  ever  she  heard  me  singing 
she  would  pierce  my  heart  and  my  throat  with  an 
arrow." 

But  Marko  again  pressed  him :  "  Sing,  my 
brother,  and  do  not  fear  the  Fairy.  Why  fear  her 
when  I  am  with  thee,  and  my  magic  horse  Sharats 
and  my  golden  six-sided  mace  ?  '  So  Milosh  began 
to  sing  a  beautiful  song  about  his  country,  and  he 
had  the  most  beautiful  voice  in  the  world,  and  Marko 
liked  the  song.  But  still  he  felt  drowsy,  and  even 
while  Milosh  sang  he  leaned  forward  in  his  saddle 
and  dozed.  Now  the  Fairy  of  the  Mountain  heard 
the  sweet  singing  and  took  up  the  song,  thinking  to 
answer  it  with  her  own.  But  the  voice  of  Milosh 
was  so  much  more  beautiful  than  her  own  that  it 
angered  the  Fairy,  and  she  rushed  up  the  mountain- 
side and  took  a  bow  and  placed  two  arrows.  With 
one  she  pierced  the  throat  of  Milosh  and  with  the 
other  one  his  heart. 

"  Alas,  O  my  mother !  "  cried  Milosh  as  he  fell 
from  his  saddle.  "  Alas,  Marko,  my  brother  in  God ! 
The  Fairy  has  pierced  me  with  her  arrows.  Did  I 
not  tell  thee  that  I  ought  not  to  sing  while  we  were 
passing  through  the  mountains  ?  " 

Marko  started  from  his  sleep,  sprang  from  his 
saddle,  and  tightened  the  saddle-girths  of  his  Sharats. 
Then  he  held  the  head  of  Sharats  in  his  hand  and 
kissed  him  and  said :  "  O  Sharats,  my  true  and  trusty 
32 


Marko  and  the  Fairy 

WILLIAM  SEWELL 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

steed,  if  thou  couldst  chase  and  capture  the  Fairy 
I  would  shoe  thee  with  pure  silver,  with  pure  silver 
and  with  refined  gold.  And  I  would  cover  thee  down 
to  thy  knees  with  silk,  and  from  the  knees  down 
to  the  feet  with  silken  tassels.  Thy  mane  I  would 
mix  with  golden  thread  and  adorn  it  with  the  finest 
pearls.  But  if  thou  canst  not  catch  the  Fairy  I  will 
leave  thee  here  in  the  forest  to  carry  thyself  miserably 
from  tree  to  tree,  as  I  am  now  wretched  without  my 
brother  in  God." 

Then  Marko  sprang  to  the  saddle  and  let  the  reins 
hang  loose  on  Sharats'  neck.  On  they  sped,  the 
noise  of  Sharats'  hoofs  like  thunder  as  he  clattered 
down  the  mountain-side.  Soon  they  saw  the  Fairy 
flying  through  the  air  just  above  the  mountain  as 
Sharats  was  running  through  the  midst  of  the  woods 
of  the  mountain.  The  instant  Sharats  saw  the 
Fairy  he  sprang  three  lances  in  height  and  four  lances 
forward  and  quickly  was  on  the  point  of  reaching 
the  Fairy.  But  when  she  saw  herself  in  danger  she 
flew  toward  the  clouds  hanging  in  the  sky.  Up  leapt 
Sharats  again,  and  Marko,  hurling  his  golden  mace 
after  her,  not  sparing  his  strength  and  not  sparing 
her,  struck  the  Fairy  between  the  shoulders  and 
brought  her  to  the  ground.  Marko  turned  her  then 
from  right  to  left  and  struck  her  with  his  six-sided 
golden  mace  again. 

"  Why,  O  Fairy  (and  may  God  kill  thee  !),  why  didst 
thou  pierce  with  arrows  my  beloved  brother  in  God  ? 
Give  me  at  once  the  healing  herb  for  that  hero,  else 
shalt  thou  carry  no  longer  thy  head  on  thy  shoulders." 

Then  the  Fairy  was  sorry  for  what  evil  she  had 
c  33 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

done,  and  implored  Marko  to  lay  down  his  anger 
against  her  and  become  her  brother  in  God. 

"  By  the  name  of  the  highest  God  and  by  the  name 
of  St  John  I  implore  thee  to  be  my  brother  in  God. 

0  Marko  the  King's  son,  let  me  plunge  alive  into  the 
woods  to  gather  from  them  the  healing  herbs  which 
will  heal  those  wounds  of  that  hero  !  ' 

Marko  was  always  full  of  pity  when  some  one  ap- 
pealed to  him  in  such  terms,  and  his  hero  heart  was 
easily  moved  to  compassion.  So  he  allowed  the  Fairy 
to  go  alive  into  the  wood,  only  he  watched  her  from 
a  distance  with  his  hand  on  the  reins  of  Sharats.  She 
searched  for  the  herbs  and  found  them  and  gathered 
them,  answering  often  the  calls  of  Marko  :  "  Presently 

1  return  to  thee  through  God,  my  brother  in  God." 
And  when  she  had  gathered  the  herbs  they  went 

back  together  to  the  body  of  Milosh,  where  he  lay 
with  his  beautiful  head  on  the  ground,  and  with  them 
she  healed  the  wounds  of  that  hero.  And  Milosh 
rose  up  again  with  his  heart  sounder  than  ever  and 
his  royal  voice  more  wonderful  than  before. 

Marko  then  left  the  Fairy  with  his  healed  brother 
in  God,  and  the  Fairy  remained  sadly  in  the  mountain. 
Gathering  her  other  sister  fairies  also,  she  told  them  : 
"  Do  not  shoot  arrows  at  the  heroes  passing  through 
the  woods  so  long  as  Kraljevitch  Marko  is  living  with 
his  magic  horse  Sharats  and  his  golden  six-sided 
mace.  What  sufferings  have  I  not  had  to-day !  Yet 
I  thank  God  that  I  remained  alive  !  " 

And  with  that  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  finished  the 
story  and  looked  down  on  three  very  sleepy  little 

34 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

children,  for  Drago  had  hardly  been  able  to  keep  his 
eyes  open  even  for  his  favourite  part  where  Marko 
hit  the  Fairy  with  his  mace  ! 

"  Sleepy  children  should  be  in  bed/'  she  said, 
picking  up  Drago  in  her  arms.  "  And  my  hero 
Marko  too,  else  will  the  fairy  veela  catch  him  sleep- 
ing !  Into  your  beds  you  go,  my  children  !  " 


35 


CHAPTER  II  :   A  VISIT  TO  BANJA 

MAIKA,  only  come  to  see  the  great  pile 
of  apples  from  the  six  big  trees— only 
from  them  !  I  have  not  yet  touched 
the  smaller  ones.  How  full  a  kola  shall  we  have 
to  take  to  Banja  to-morrow  !  '  cried  Marko  as 
he  caught  sight  of  his  mother's  skirt  through 
the  branches.  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  was  coming 
round  the  side  of  the  house  with  a  fowl  in  her 
hand  which  she  had  just  killed  ready  for  the  market 
to-morrow. 

"  Indeed  and  that  was  a  fine  yield.  Good,  very 
good/'  she  said,  bending  to  look  at  the  fruit  with  a 
critical  eye.  '  There  will  be  even  twenty  kilos  there, 
and  more  yet  to  come/7  pointing  to  one  of  the  piles 
which  Marko  had  neatly  arranged  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree.  '  The  saints  have  prospered  us  this  year,  for 
first  came  the  plums,  almost  as  fine  as  Marya  Popo- 
vitch's,  and  her  trees  twice  the  size  of  ours.  Now 
we  have  the  apples,  and  the  pears  too  were  none 
so  bad." 

"  Will  there  be  cheese  to  take  as  well  as  the  kaimak 
to-morrow  ?  "  asked  the  boy  as  he  climbed  down 
from  the  stripped  tree  and  carried  his  flat  basket, 
made  last  winter  from  the  osiers  bordering  their 
little  stream,  to  the  next  tree. 

"  Not  much  cheese/'  answered  his  mother,  "but 
I  have  made  much  kaimak,  and  there  will  be 
pumpkins  and  the  chickens  and  many  eggs,  for 
lately  the  hens  have  laid  well.  Soon  thou  must 
leave  apple-gathering  too,  for  there  is  other  work 

36 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

for  thy  hands.  I  need  more  logs  and  many 
small  branches  for  my  fire,  since  I  shall  bake 
to-day." 

'  Where  is  Drago  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
the  sun  was  up,"  called  Marko  after  his  mother's 
retreating  figure. 

"  Drago  is  cowherd  and  swineherd  too  down  in 
the  big  meadow.  Soon  thou  and  Ivanka  must  go 
to  the  house  of  Militsa  Obilitch  and  take  to  her  the 
basket  of  apples  I  have  promised  her.  She  has  very 
few,  and  surely  out  of  our  abundance  we  can  spare 
one  little  handful." 

Well  did  Marko  know  the  size  of  that  '  little 
handful '  that  his  mother  would  send  to  Militsa  ! 

"  Thy  little  handful,  Maika,"  he  laughed,  "  is 
much  more  likely  to  break  the  arms  of  thy  poor 
little  Marko  and  his  young  sister  Ivanka  !  " 

'  Take  that  for  a  saucy  boy  who  laughs  at  his  old 
mother,"  said  Dobrilla  Yankovitch,  laughing  herself, 
as  she  gave  the  boy  a  little  tap  on  the  top  of  his 
brown  head.  Marko  skilfully  dodged  out  of  her  way, 
and  clambered  up  the  mossy  trunk  of  the  old  apple- 
tree  and  out  on  a  branch  that  was  too  far  up  for  her 
to  reach  him. 

"  But  I  am  idling  my  time  when  I  should  be 
working,"  she  said.  "  Thou  knowest  well  the  saying, 
O  my  son,  that  '  Who  likes  to  rest  under  the  shadow 
of  a  tree  in  summer,  in  winter  goes  hungry.'  '  And 
carrying  her  chicken  she  disappeared  into  the  house 
and  began  to  pluck  the  bird  rapidly,  crooning  a  song 
as  she  worked.  Marko  listened  a  minute  ;  then,  as 
if  inspired  by  the  song,  he  too  began.  You  could 

37 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

hardly  call  it  a  song  ;  it  was  more  of  a  shout.  But 
this  is  what  he  sang  : 

"Oopa  tsoopa ! 
Danas,  sutra ! 
Nikad  nishta 
Da  izdrtih  opanka  !  " 

Which  means,  "  Up  and  down !  Dance  to-day ! 
Dance  to-morrow !  But  nothing  at  the  end  but  a 
torn  sandal  !  " 

It  was  a  fine  tune,  and  Marko's  feet  tingled  as  he 
sang.  How  he  loved  to  dance  !  Nothing  was  more 
enjoyable  than  on  a  fine  Sunday,  or  a  feast  day  of 
the  Church  (and  there  were  really  so  many  of  them, 
greater  and  lesser,  that  it  was  quite  delightful !), 
to  go  to  the  village,  or  better  still  to  one  of  the 
neighbouring  villages  where  there  were  more  people, 
and  watch  them  dancing  the  kolo.  Every  one  in 
Serbia  dances  the  kolo  —  a  word  which  means  '  a 
circle/  Men  and  girls  or  men  alone  dance  in  a  ring, 
their  hands  on  each  other's  shoulders  or  waists. 
First  a  few  steps  to  the  right,  then  a  few  steps  to  the 
left,  or  backward  and  forward,  as  the  case  may  be. 
Marko  was  able  to  dance  most  of  the  steps,  but  you 
have  to  be  very  neat  and  deft  of  foot  before  you  can 
count  yourself  a  really  good  kolo  dancer,  for  though 
the  steps  are  very  simple  there  are  so  many  of  them 
to  learn.  And,  moreover,  the  cleverest  dancers  do 
not  just  dance  with  their  feet,  but  with  all  their 
body,  every  little  movement  having  its  own  grace 
and  meaning.  Generally  the  gipsies  came  to  play 
for  the  dancers  ;  and  what  lovely  music  they  could 
draw  out  of  their  fiddles  and  pipes  !  When  Marko 
38 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

heard  some  familiar  air  like  The  Gipsy  Girl  or  Lily 
of  the  Valley  or  Igrala  Kolo  played  it  was  all  he  could 
do  not  to  shout  with  excitement.  It  was  as  if  the 
music  had  got  into  his  toes  and  stopped  there ! 
It  was  not  just  the  music  and  singing  which  made 
everything  seem  so  gay,  but  on  those  high  days  and 
holidays  every  one  had  their  beautiful  clothes  on, 
and  that  in  itself  was  delightful.  Marko  himself 
liked  fine  clothes,  and  he  liked  to  see  the  dandies 
of  the  village  in  their  high  boots,  frilled  white  shirts, 
and  velvet  waistcoats,  and  with  the  bright  flower 
behind  their  ears. 

And  the  girls  too,  with  their  wide  kilted  skirts  and 
wonderful  aprons  of  velvet  or  satin,  all  embroidered 
in  silks  and  wools  with  posies  of  pansies  or  big  red 
roses  and  figures  of  men  and  women — you  could 
hardly  imagine  such  aprons  if  you  had  not  seen  them. 

The  girls  had  white  lawn  bodices,  and  over  them 
little  sleeveless  coats  of  velvet  all  embroidered  in  gold 
and  silver  and  even  strung  with  seed  pearls ;  and 
on  their  heads  instead  of  the  cotton  handkerchief 
of  everyday  they  wore  fine  muslin  caps  or  silken 
kerchiefs.  Round  their  necks  were  hung  one,  two,  or 
even  three  necklaces  of  gold  or  silver  coins,  which 
tinkled  prettily  as  they  danced. 

But  you  should  have  seen  little  Ivanka  dancing 
the  kolo.  She  could  dance — there  was  not  a  step  she 
could  not  manage  after  she  had  practised  it  once  or 
twice,  and  she  was  never  out  of  breath  or  tired  ! 
Even  when  the  older  boys  and  girls  called  "  Enough  ! 
Enough  !  "  and  sank  down  in  merry  groups  on  the 
grass  after  some  quick-stepping  kolo,  the  small 

39 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Ivanka  would  still  dance  solemnly  on  quite  alone, 
while  the  gipsies,  who  love  to  see  anyone  so  quick 
and  clever,  played  faster  and  more  furiously  than 
ever,  just  for  fun,  to  see  if  they  could  tire  her  out. 
But  they  never  could  ! 

How  proud  Maika  was  of  her  little  daughter  when 
she  danced  so  cleverly,  and  what  a  fuss  the  older 
people  made  of  her  because  she  was  such  a  dear 
little  girl  and  had  such  nimble  feet !  She  always 
looked  so  pretty  with  her  red  silk  handkerchief 
tied  over  her  silky  hair — hair  so  fine  and  shining 
that  it  really  was  a  shame  to  have  it  covered.  And 
on  feast  days  the  Maika  always  hung  round  Ivanka's 
neck  the  three  rows  of  silver  coins  which  she  had 
worn  herself  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Then  Ivanka 
would  kiss  her  mother's  hand  and  say  in  her  pretty 
voice  : 

"  Thanks  for  the  generous  gift,  O  my  mother  ! 
May  thy  life  be  long/'  which  was,  of  course,  the 
proper  thing  to  say  at  that  time.  And  Maika  would 
just  as  gravely  reply,  as  she  kissed  the  girl  on  her 
brow :  "  May  thy  soul  be  happy  before  God." 
After  that  Ivanka  would.,  scamper  off  with  her 
brothers,  and  before  long  would  be  the  gayest  of 
the  dancing  circle. 

Marko's  song  from  the  apple-tree  suddenly  ceased, 
for  he  saw  his  sister  coming  from  the  well  with  a 
pitcher  of  water  in  her  hand,  and  he  called  out  to 
her  :  "  Ohe,  Ivanka  !  Here  is  a  fine  big  apple  for  a 
girl  who  can  dance  the  teeta  teeta  dance  with  a  pitcher 
of  water  on  her  shoulder/' 

Now  this  was  sheer  teasing,  for  the  dance  that 
40 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

Marko  meant  is  one  to  which  the  song  which  begins 
"  Teeta  teeta  loboda"  is  sung  all  the  time  while  the 
dance  is  going  on,  and  the  dancers  have  to  face  each 
other  part  of  the  time  and  shake  their  heads  at  one 
another,  clapping  their  hands  in  time  to  the  music. 
So  you  see  it  was  hardly  possible  to  do  what  Marko 
suggested !  But  he  was  in  a  mischievous  mood  that 
morning,  and  dearly  loved  to  tease  Ivanka  because 
she  was  generally  rather  solemn. 

She  saw  the  joke  of  this,  however,  and  all  her  white 
teeth  gleamed  as  she  laughed  at  Marko  and  said, 
shaking  her  small  head  :  "  Wait,  only  wait  till  I 
have  carried  my  pitcher  into  the  house,  for  it's  heavy, 
and  then  I  will  show  who  can  dance  the  longest/' 

"  Lazy  one,  lazy  one  !  "  shouted  Marko  from  his 
tree.  "  Only  wait  a  moment/'  and  he  began  to  sing 
another  song,  swaying  up  and  down  as  he  bestrode 
a  big  branch  of  the  apple-tree  he  was  stripping  of  its 
fruit. 

"  Oopa  tsoopa,  chizme  moye  ! 
I  kod  kuche  imam  dvoye, 
Al  niyedne  nissu  moye  ! " 

Which  means,  "  Up  and  down,  my  boots  !  At  home 
have  I  two  pairs,  yet  none  of  them  are  mine  !  '; 

And  that  was  the  one  particular  tune  Ivanka  could 
never  resist  !  Down  went  the  pitcher  on  the  ground, 
and  here  and  there  like  dragon-flies  darted  the  tireless 
little  brown  feet,  while  Marko  shouted  the  song  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  and  clapped  his  hands  to  mark  the 
time. 

Chedda  toddled  unsteadily  to  the  door  to  see  what 
all  the  noise  was  about,  and  when  he  saw  Marko 

4* 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

clapping  his  hands  he  tried  to  clap  his  too,  but  he 
was  so  fat  that  he  overbalanced  and  fell  down  with  a 
flop.  Just  then  a  stray  pig  came  round  the  corner  of 
the  house,  and  of  course  bumped  right  into  Ivanka's 
pitcher  of  water  and  upset  it,  so  she  had  to  stop 
dancing  and  make  another  journey  to  the  well  for 
more.  Marko  at  last  came  down  from  the  tree  and 
began  piling  up  the  fruit  ready  for  carrying  into  the 
house. 

Much  of  the  fruit  would  go  to  Banja  and  be  sold 
next  day,  some  would  be  kept  for  the  winter  use  of  the 
household,  and  not  a  little  would  find  its  way  into 
Marko's  interior  !  For  he  had  a  certain  weakness 
in  the  matter  of  plums  and  apples,  like  many  other 
boys. 

Maika  left  her  baking  to  superintend  the  picking 
of  a  nice  basketful  of  the  apples  for  their  neigh- 
bour, and  then  dispatched  Marko  to  the  forest  to 
fetch  brushwood  and  chop  logs  for  her  big  fire. 
Luckily  there  was  always  plenty  of  wood  for  the 
fetching,  and  Marko  was  a  big  strong  boy  for  his 
age,  able  to  handle  alone  all  but  the  really  big  logs. 

"  Ivanka  shall  take  her  the  stockings  I  finished 
yesterday  too/'  thought  Maika  as  she  knelt  on  the 
grass  packing  the  apples.  "  The  pattern  is  so  fine 
now  that  I  have  found  the  good  colours  with  which 
to  make  the  trees.  A  pity  that  Militsa  cannot  see 
well  enough  to  do  this  work.  That  is  beyond  a 
doubt  the  most  beautiful  pair  of  stockings  that  I 
have  seen  for  many  years. 

"  And  my  little  Ivanka  will  make  a  clever  girl 
with  her  fingers.  In  another  summer  she  will  knit 
42 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

as  quickly  as  I  do,  and  she  spins  well  already.  Soon 
she  shall  weave,  both  the  flax  and  the  wool.  And 
I  will  show  her  the  dyes,  so  that  she  may  prepare 
everything  with  her  own  hands,  as  she  will  like  to  do/' 

When  Marko  had  finished  his  wood-cutting  he 
found  Ivanka  waiting  for  him  with  the  big  basket 
of  apples. 

"  Ohe  !  "  he  cried,  "  so  that  is  my  mother's  little 
handful  !  I  thought  it  would  be  of  ,a  weight  sufficient 
to  break  both  my  arms  and  thine  !  "  And  with 
another  shout  of  "  Oh,  bad  mother  to  burden  so  thy 
little  feeble  son  !  "  the  sturdy  lad  caught  hold  of  the 
handle,  while  Ivanka  took  the  other  side,  and  they 
set  off  together. 

The  way  to  Militsa  Obilitch's  house  lay  through 
their  own  orchard,  out  of  the  gap  in  the  fencing,  and 
over  the  stream  where  the  clothes  were  washed  ; 
then  they  had  to  wind  round  a  couple  of  maize-fields 
and  take  a  rough  track,  very  rutty  and  dusty, 
although  in  winter  it  would  be  muddy  enough  to 
mire  them  to  their  knees,  and  then  to  descend  a 
steep  hill  and  ford  the  big  stream  at  the  bottom. 
There  were  stepping-stones  half  in  and  half  out  of 
the  water,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  get  the  big  basket 
across,  even  though  bare  feet  do  grip  on  the  stones 
better  than  booted  ones.  However,  they  got  over 
without  any  accident,  but  the  basket  seemed  to 
have  grown  heavier  for  the  last  few  yards,  and  it 
was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  they  laid  it  down  and 
sat  by  the  banks  of  the  stream  for  a  few  minutes 
dangling  their  toes  in  the  water  before  climbing  up 
the  next  steep  hill. 

43 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Are  all  to  go  to  Banja  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Marko 
then.  "  Shall  I  go  with  the  Maika  too  to  sell  the 
pigs,  or  is  it  only  thou  and  the  loads  of  pumpkins 
and  suchlike  stuff  ?  '•• 

"  I  do  not  know/'  replied  Ivanka,  "  but  I  think 
the  pigs  are  to  go,  for  I  heard  Branko  Yakshich  talk- 
ing to  our  Maika  last  evening  as  he  brought  down 
wood  from  the  forest,  and  then  she  told  him  that 
nine  pigs  were  big  and  fat  enough  to  sell/' 

"  There  are  only  eight  really  worth  the  buying  as 
yet/'"  remarked  Marko  importantly,  for  he  considered 
himself  the  best  authority  on  those  pigs.  Had  he 
not  been  swineherd  since  they  were  tiny  piglings  ? 
"  But  if  the  pigs  go,  then  /  go  too/'  he  added,  for  on 
no  account  would  Marko  miss  the  excitement  of  a 
day  in  Banja  if  he  could  help  it.  There  was  so  much 
to  see  and  so  much  to  do — so  many  people  to  watch, 
particularly  now  since  the  folk  who  came  in  the 
summer-time  would  still  be  there,  as  the  weather 
continued  so  warm  and  fine.  He  found  a  never- 
ending  amusement  in  studying  the  ways  of  those 
strange  townspeople  who  never  seemed  to  have  any 
work  to  do,  since  they  were  apparently  able  to  sit 
all  day  at  the  little  tables  in  front  of  the  kafanas, 
eating  and  drinking  whatever  they  liked.  Marko 
knew  they  must  be  immensely  rich  to  be  able  to  do 
all  that,  yet  what  puzzled  him  was  how  they  were 
able  to  leave  their  crops  and  cattle  to  look  after 
themselves  while  they  stayed  in  Banja  !  There  was 
Uncle  Ivan,  who  certainly  wras  not  nearly  so  rich 
as  those  people,  yet  who  had  very  many  fields  and  a 
vast  number  of  cattle — and  he  found  it  very  difficult 

44 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

to  leave  his  mill   and   his  potatoes  for   even   two 
days  ! 

Marko  was  still  puzzling  his  mind  with  thoughts 
like  these  when  Ivanka,  who  was  less  given  to  dream- 
ing, got  up  and  picked  up  her  end  of  the  basket. 
"  Come,  Marko,  come  quickly,  or  we  shall  never  be 
there.  And  also  I  am  more  than  a  little  hungry, 
and  there  is  often  good  kaimak  at  Militsa  Obilitch's, 
which  she  gives  one  kindly/' 

This  interested  Marko  too,  so  he  grabbed  the  basket 
handle,  and  soon  they  were  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
and  only  a  field  from  the  little  orchard  of  plums 
in  the  very  middle  of  which  stood  the  house  they 
were  making  for.  A  couple  of  savage-looking  grey 
dogs  rushed  out,  barking  furiously,  but  they  soon 
recognized  friends  and  came  round  the  children 
wagging  their  tails  amiably.  Militsa's  house  was  a 
very  funny  one,  for  it  did  not  stand  on  the  ground 
like  all  the  others  of  the  district,  but  its  two  rooms 
were  perched  high  in  the  air  over  a  kind  of  rough 
barn  open  on  one  side.  From  the  barn,  in  which 
lay  a  big  pile  of  maize  stalks  and  leaves,  serving  as 
food  for  the  cattle  in  the  winter  months,  and  where 
fowls,  pigs,  and  goats,  to  say  nothing  of  a  young  calf, 
appeared  to  live  together,  you  mounted  to  the  house 
by  a  flight  of  wooden  steps  exactly  like  those  still 
to  be  seen  in  some  hen-houses  in  England. 

As  Marko  and  Ivanka  approached  the  house,  ac- 
companied by  the  dogs,  a  voice  called  to  them  from 
a  window  above,  "  Be  free  to  enter/'  and  looking 
up  they  saw  Militsa  Obilitch  and  her  two  younger 
children,  Yovan  and  Kossara,  while  the  eldest  boy, 

45 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Petar,  came  from  behind  the  barn  with  some  eggs 
in  his  hand,  and  ran  up  to  greet  them. 

"  Good-day,  Militsa  Obilitch,"  they  called  back. 
"  We  have  brought  greetings  and  a  small  gift  of 
apples  from  our  mother. " 

"  Come  up,  children  ;  I  am  busy  here,"  called 
down  Militsa  again,  and  she  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  wooden  steps,  smiling  her  pleasure  at  seeing  them. 
With  some  difficulty  Ivanka  and  Marko  tugged  the 
heavy  basket  up  the  stairs,  and  Militsa  Obilitch 
exclaimed  as  she  saw  the  fine  present  they  had 
brought  her. 

She  had  a  big  fire  burning  in  her  wide,  open  hearth, 
and  over  it  hung  by  an  iron  hook  and  chain  a  big 
copper  pot  in  which  bubbled  and  simmered  some 
maize  which  she  was  stirring.  What  a  bare  room 
it  was !  Only  a  couple  of  wooden  stools  and  a  bed 
for  furniture,  and  a  high  shelf  right  round  the  walls 
to  hold  baskets  and  hemp,  tools  and  small  tackle. 
Even  the  inner  room  was  almost  as  bare,  though  it 
had  a  small  stove  in  one  corner  and  a  table  and  a 
couple  of  chairs,  besides  the  two  wooden  beds  with 
a  few  blankets  laid  on  them.  The  old  grandmother 
was  sitting  on  the  floor  shelling  maize  cobs  into 
a  big  bowl.  She  was  nearly  blind,  and  so  could 
do  little  to  help  her  daughter  in  the  house,  but  she 
was  pleased  when  she  had  some  small  tasks  to  do, 
and  she  remembered  Ivanka's  voice  when  she  and 
Marko  went  up  to  kiss  her  hand,  which  is  the  pretty 
way  in  which  Serbian  children  show  respect  for  old 
people. 

Little  Kossara  was  a  very  shy  child,  even  shy  of 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

other  children,  and  she  hid  behind  her  old  Baba's 
skirts  when  Ivanka  tried  to  play  with  her.  The  boys 
were  quiet  too,  or  at  least  they  seemed  quiet  after 
Marko 's  noisy  ways  and  Drago's  chuckling  laugh, 
which  you  always  heard  when  he  had  some  bit  of 
special  mischief  on  hand — which  was  not  seldom ! 

However,  Yovan  had  a  fine  calf  he  wanted  to  show 
to  Marko,  and  the  two  soon  clattered  down  the  stairs 
to  inspect  it,  while  Petar  took  his  mother's  place  at 
the  cauldron  and  solemnly  stirred  the  maize  with  a 
long  stick  so  that  his  mother  was  free  to  be  as  hospit- 
able as  her  kindly  heart  wished.  And  the  poorest 
Serbian  peasant  would  rather  die  than  be  unable 
to  exercise  his  natural  love  of  hospitality  toward  a 
guest.  So  Militsa  Obilitch  bustled  about,  and  soon 
there  was  a  big  bowl  of  hot  milk  for  Ivanka  and 
another  for  Marko  when  he  should  come  in,  and  a  large 
piece  of  maize-bread,  because  they  had  come  almost 
at  midday,  with  what  Ivanka  dearly  loved,  a  big 
slab  of  kaimak,  and  that  is  neither  cream  nor  butter 
nor  cheese,  but  a  sort  of  delicious  mixture  of  all 
three  ! 

Then  there  were  the  stockings  to  admire,  the  ones 
which  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  had  first  knitted  and  then 
embroidered.  Such  beautiful  stockings  in  scarlet, 
with  a  pattern  of  green  trees  and  yellow  figures 
worked  all  round  the  top.  Militsa's  eyes  were  not 
good,  so  she  could  not  do  such  beautiful  work  her- 
self, though  of  course  she  could  knit  as  fast  and 
well  as  anyone,  having  knitted  since  childhood,  like 
all  Serbian  women. 

Still  she  was  deeply  interested  in  it,  and  took  the 

47 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

stockings  to  the  light  to  examine  them  more  closely, 
till  two  neighbours  came  and  she  delightedly  dis- 
played them  again  for  the  new-comers'  pleasure, 
while  she  herself  disappeared  to  make  the  coffee 
that  is  an  inevitable  feature  in  a  Serbian  visit. 

That  was  a  thing  which  Ivanka  dearly  loved  to  do 
when  she  was  at  home  and  neighbours  came  to  see 
her  mother.  Carefully  she  would  get  down  the  little 
tray  and  arrange  the  tiny  cups  and  saucers  on  it, 
placing  by  the  side  of  each  cup  a  tumbler  full  of  clear 
cold  water  and  a  lump  of  sugar.  Then  she  would 
grind  the  coffee  berries  in  the  tall  brass  coffee-mill, 
and  measuring  out  a  cupful  of  cold  water  and  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  sugar  for  every  visitor,  she  would  boil 
the  water  and  sugar  in  the  tiny  copper  pan.  When 
it  was  quite  boiling  she  would  add  the  coffee  very 
carefully,  just  a  spoonful  for  every  cup,  and  watch 
it  anxiously  till  it  boiled.  Then  she  would  take  it 
off  the  stove,  put  it  back  till  it  boiled  again,  and 
remove  it  and  repeat  the  process,  never,  however, 
letting  it  boil  for  more  than  a  second  or  two.  After 
that  it  would  be  poured  into  the  little  cups,  and 
Ivanka  would  try  to  have  a  little  of  the  '  froth  ' 
on  the  surface  of  each  cup,  for  that  was  the  great 
and  finishing  touch. 

Then  she  would  carry  round  the  tray,  pausing 
before  each  guest  with  her  gentle  "  Izvolite,  Gospodja," 
which  means,  "  Please  be  so  good  as  to  accept  this, 
Mrs  So-and-So,"  and  every  one  would  praise  the 
coffee  and  say  how  well  Ivanka  made  it. 

And  Militsa  Obilitch  pleased  her  very  much  by 
including  her  among  the  grown-up  people  this  day 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

and  coming  to  her  after  the  others  were  served, 
half  in  fun,  saying,  "  Izvolite,  Gospodjitsa,"  which 
made  Ivanka  feel  very  grown-up  too !  Indeed, 
she  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave,  and  if  Marko  had  not 
come  back  with  Petar  and  Yovan  there  is  no  telling 
how  long  she  would  have  stayed  ! 

But  the  basket  was  empty  going  home,  and  it  was 
not  so  very  late  when  they  ran  into  their  own  orchard 
—not  too  late,  at  all  events,  for  a  big  plate  of  beans 
cooked  in  oil  and  a  slice  of  the  new-baked  bread,  all 
hot  and  crumbly,  which  was  just  how  the  children 
liked  it. 

The  next  morning  broke  colder,  and  there  was 
more  than  a  touch  of  autumn  in  the  air.  Mist  hung 
in  wreaths  over  the  mountains  and  drifted  slowly 
down  the  slopes.  The  bullocks'  warm  breath  made 
a  sort  of  steamy  halo  round  their  patient  heads  as 
they  stood  waiting  for  the  yoke  to  be  attached  and 
their  load  made  ready  for  them.  Early  rising  was 
the  custom  always  in  the  Httle  household,  but  that 
day  was  begun  even  earlier  than  usual,  for  the  slow- 
moving  oxen  would  not  hasten  their  pace  even  though 
Banja  and  its  market  lay  ahead,  and  the  need  for 
securing  a  good  place  among  the  stalls  was  impera- 
tive. Not  that  it  made  so  great  a  difference  to  them 
as  it  would  to  some,  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  thought 
proudly  as  she  looked  over  the  plump  fowls,  the 
delicious  creamy  kaimak,  and  the  piles  of  juicy  apples, 
to  the  heaped-up  golden  pumpkins  and  basket  of 
eggs.  It  was  a  pity  the  grapes  were  so  small  and 
that  they  were  so  few.  Perhaps  next  year  they 
would  be  able  to  dig  more  deeply  round  the  vines 
D  49 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

and  keep  the  brambles  at  bay,  so  that  there  would 
be  a  crop  worth  having. 

Chedda  and  Drago,  wrapped  in  their  little  sheep- 
skin jackets  against  the  chill  of  the  morning,  were 
already  in  the  kola  by  the  time  Marko  had  collected 
his  nine  pigs  and  marshalled  them  ready  for  the 
start.  The  bullocks  began  their  even  jog-trot  pace, 
Ivanka  and  Maika  walking  by  the  side  of  the  kola, 
and  the  pigs  and  their  guide  marching  a  little  ahead, 
Marko  armed  with  a  long  switch  cut  from  the  hedges, 
the  better  to  control  his  unruly  family,  and  gaily 
singing  as  he  went : 

"  Oopa  tsoopa ! 
Danas,  sutra ! 
Nikad  nishta 
Da  izdrtih  opanka  !  " 

looking  round  from  time  to  time  teasingly  at  Ivanka 
to  see  if  she  was  taking  any  notice  ! 

Though  it  was  still  early  when  the  kola  rumbled 
across  the  narrow  bridge  leading  into  Banja  and 
wended  its  way  slowly  up  the  principal  street,  past 
the  big  Krona  Hotel,  past  the  Cafe  de  1'Europe,  and 
round  into  the  market-place  by  the  fountain,  the 
pretty  pink  and  white  town  was  full  of  animation. 
Many  of  the  market  stalls  were  already  occupied  ; 
peasant  women  were  busy  laying  out  their  goods, 
their  husbands  and  brothers  talking  in  the  back- 
ground, leaning  against  the  big  loads  of  firewood 
they  had  brought  down  from  the  forests,  ready  cut 
into  logs  for  the  housekeepers  of  Banja  to  purchase. 

Ivanka  backed  the  oxen  into  a  corner  well  out  of 
the  way  of  the  passers-by,  and  lifted  Chedda  down 

50 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

so  that  the  good  things  they  had  brought  with  them 
could  be  set  out  on  the  little  wooden  trestle  table. 
When  the  kola  was  empty  Chedda  could  sit  on  a  pile 
of  maize  stalks  in  the  bottom  out  of  harm's  way, 
and  would  stay  there  playing  quite  happily  with  a 
lapful  of  walnuts.  As  for  the  pigs,  they  were  so 
used  to  being  driven  up  and  down  every  day  for  food 
that  they  were  less  trouble  to  manage  than  a  flock 
of  sheep  would  be  in  England  on  a  market-day, 
and  Drago  was  called  into  service  here  to  keep  the 
nine  more  or  less  together  till  a  possible  customer 
arrived.  Marko  looked  at  them  with  the  severe 
eyes  of  a  critic,  but  he  could  see  little  amiss  with 
them. 

It  was  rather  early  yet  for  the  brisk  marketing  to 
begin,  but  even  now  there  was  a  general  air  of  bustle 
and  activity  which  pleased  Marko.  The  shrill  voices 
of  the  country  women  as  they  argued  over  their 
prices  with  the  first  early-rising  housewives  who  came 
into  the  square,  their  baskets  on  their  arms,  all  pre- 
pared to  spend  an  hour  or  more  in  bargaining  over 
a  few  fowls  or  a  kilo  or  two  of  apples,  the  cries  of  the 
children,  the  creaking  wheels  of  the  bullock-carts, 
had  for  accompaniment  the  splash  of  the  clear 
fountain  in  the  market-place  and  the  babble  of  the 
busy  mountain  stream  which  ran  through  the  centre 
of  the  little  town  over  a  rocky  bed.  Kow  blue  the 
sky  was,  and  how  intensely  blue  the  water,  save  where 
it  broke  into  miniature  waterfalls  over  the  big  stones 
in  the  river-bed  and  threw  up  sparkling  showers 
and  foam  !  On  one  side  of  the  principal  street  was 
the  pretty  Park,  with  its  fine  tall  trees,  and  behind 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

the  gay  pink  and  white  villas,  their  gardens  bright 
with  flowers  and  planted  with  vivid  green  shrubs, 
towered  the  tree-clad  mountains.  None  of  the  houses 
were  alike;  some  were  long  and  low,  and  white- 
washed, with  light  green  shutters,  others  were  high 
and  peaked-roofed,  with  little  balconies  gay  with 
flowers  jutting  out  in  all  directions.  Here  was  a 
square  white  hotel,  and  there  a  wooden  chalet 
perched  upon  the  side  of  the  hill  overlooking  the 
market-place. 

Outside  all  the  kafanas  and  hotels  stood  little 
tables,  overflowing  from  their  terraces  right  into  the 
street,  and  already  these  were  beginning  to  fill  with 
groups  of  people  coming  out  to  breathe  the  fresh 
morning  air  and  drink  their  coffee  in  the  sunshine. 
Marko  looked  up  and  down  and  from  left  to  right, 
and  gave  one  big  sigh  of  utter  content.  There  was 
something  about  all  this  which  pleased  his  boyish 
mind  immensely,  and  he  waited  rather  impatiently 
till  all  that  they  had  brought  with  them  was  arranged 
on  the  stall  to  the  best  advantage. 

Then  he  saw  that  his  mother  was  deeply  engaged 
in  conversation  with  a  shopkeeper  of  Ban]  a,  who  was 
eyeing  the  pigs  in  the  manner  of  a  possible  customer— 
which  means  that  he  was  looking  at  them  at  present 
with  his  nose  turned  very  much  in  the  air.  Of  course 
Marko  knew  quite  well  what  that  meant — the  pigs 
evidently  pleased  him  and  he  meant  to  buy,  after, 
of  course,  an  hour's  seemingly  endless  bargaining 
and  wrangling  over  prices.  And  equally  of  course  he 
would  end  by  paying  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  something 
like  a  quarter  of  the  sum  she  would  begin  by  asking 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

for  them — and  he  would  pay  about  three  times  as 
much  as  he  had  himself  first  offered  !  It  was  all 
part  of  the  game  of  buying  and  selling,  and  from 
Dobrilla  and  Marko  Yankovitch's  point  of  view  it 
would  have  been  the  worst  sign  possible  had  the 
shopkeeper  admired  the  pigs  and  agreed  with  her 
as  to  their  size  and  fatness.  Instead  of  that  he  was 
abusing  them  in  every  tone  of  reproach  he  could  utter. 
"  Call  you  those  pigs?  "  he  was  saying  when  Marko 's 
attention  was  first  drawn  to  him.  "  I  call  them 
skeletons !  It  is  a  shame  to  bring  such  wretched, 
miserable  creatures  to  market.  There  should  be  a 
law  forbidding  such  things.  For  one  thing,  a  person 
who  bought  such  animals  now  would  have  to  spend 
a  small  fortune  in  feeding  them  before  they  were 
ready  for  killing/' 

Here  Dobrilla's  voice  broke  in  :  "  It  is  evident 
that  you  have  never  looked  at  the  pigs  with  a  close 
eye.  One  has  only  to  look,  Gospodin,  to  see  the  fat 
nearly  bursting  out  of  their  skins.  Such  plump, 
well-fed  little  pigs  were  never  before  brought  to 
Ban] a  Market.  But  the  people  here  are  so  un- 
accustomed to  the  sight  of  such  beautiful  creatures 
that  they  have  no  idea  what  is  a  right  and  proper 
price  to  ask  for  such  flesh.  Never  would  I  sell  even 
the  youngest  or  smallest  for  twice  the  price  you  offer 
—every  pig  shall  go  back  to  Novo  Selo  rather  than 
such  a  sacrifice  be  made.  To  Krushevats  they  shall 
go  rather  than  be -sold  in  a  place  like  Banja,  where 
the  inhabitants  have  so  little  idea  of  purchasing." 

Marko  did  not  stay  to  listen  to  any  more.  He  knew 
that  his  mother  was  thoroughly  enjoying  her  little 

53 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

sale,  and  the  big  shopkeeper  was  evidently  bent  on 
a  purchase.  The  deal  bid  fair  to  last  for  another 
hour  yet,  so  Marko  edged  away  and  strolled  up  the 
row  of  stalls.  Here  were  the  butchers  with  their 
little  fat  pigs  hung  up  in  the  place  of  honour,  joints 
of  beef  and  mutton  meekly  in  the  background. 
There  were  the  braziers  filled  with  charcoal  over 
which  women  were  bending  frying  little  hot  cakes 
in  oil  which  they  sold  to  the  market  people  as  they 
came  in  hungry  from  the  morning  coldness.  All  the 
men  wore  brown  homespun  trousers  and  waistcoats 
and  spotless  linen  shirts,  their  feet  in  opanke  and 
on  their  heads  high  black  Astrakhan  caps.  For  the 
most  part  they  formed  little  groups  around  the  wooden 
carts  and  sat  on  the  benches  outside  the  humbler 
kafanas,  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  glass  of  the  fiery 
spirit  rakija.  A  group  of  gipsies  made  a  vivid  patch 
of  colour,  for  the  women  wore  gaudy  handkerchiefs 
and  bright  aprons,  with  necklaces  of  gold  or  silver 
and  big  copper  bracelets  on  their  arms,  which  jingled 
as  they  walked.  Their  menfolk  carried  big  sticks 
on  their  shoulders,  with  wild  birds  slung  along  them 
ready  for  sale,  and  some  of  the  women  had  baskets 
which  they  had  woven  from  the  willow  osiers  and 
now  sold  to  the  visitors. 

But  all  this  was  familiar  to  Marko,  he  knew  it  all 
as  well  as  he  knew  the  nose  on  his  face,  and  the  part 
of  Banja  which  drew  him  most  was  not  the  market- 
place, but  the  town  itself,  the  shops,  the  kafanas, 
the  bandstand  in  the  Park,  and  most  of  all  the  people 
who  strolled  up  and  down  the  walks  or  sat  at  the 
little  tables. 

54 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

But  the  sun  was  getting  up  and  the  streets  grew 
fuller  and  gayer.  The  shopkeepers  and  housewives 
now  thronged  the  market,  looking  at  the  cheese 
and  eggs  and  always  driving  very  shrewd  bargains. 
Everywhere  the  sound  of  music  seemed  to  be  heard, 
for  there  were  little  kafanas  and  open-air  concert- 
rooms  scattered  all  over  the  Park,  and  every  one 
had  its  group  of  visitors  sitting  at  the  small  round 
tables  or  standing  near  the  band  listening  to  the  song 
or  gipsy  air  which  was  being  played. 

Most  of  the  officers  were  still  in  their  white  summer 
tunics,  and  Marko  looked  from  one  to  the  other  to 
see  by  the  different  colours  of  their  facings  to  which 
branch  of  the  service  each  belonged.  Here  and 
there  the  dove-grey  uniform  of  the  Serbian  army 
was  to  be  seen — evidently  worn  by  some  who  did 
not  find  the  warmth  of  the  sun  sufficient  to  justify 
white  linen  ;  and  there  too  Marko  would  pick  out 
the  blue  velvet  collars  of  the  cavalry,  the  black 
of  the  artillery,  and  the  red  of  the  infantry.  He 
particularly  admired  the  high  black  boots  of  the 
cavalrymen — so  shiny  that  you  could  see  your  face 
in  their  polished  surface — and  the  splendid  jingling 
spurs,  and  their  beautiful  lemon  kid  gloves.  And 
he  liked  the  way  their  long  swords  clanked  when 
they  walked.  There  were  ladies  with  some  of  the 
soldiers,  all  in  pretty  dresses,  and  children  too.  But 
Marko  was  not  so  interested  in  them  as  he  was  in 
the  officers.  Of  course  when  he  was  older  Marko 
would  have  to  do  his  military  service  like  all  the 
boys,  but  he  knew  that  it  would  not  be  possible  for 
him  to  remain  in  the  army  always,  like  Cousin 

55 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Andreas  ;  he  was  the  eldest  son,  and  it  would  be 
his  work  to  till  the  maize-fields  and  plant  the  vines 
after  his  days  in  barracks  were  over.  Cousin  Andreas 
was  already  a  corporal :  soon,  indeed,  he  would  be 
a  sergeant,  for  he  was  a  clever  cousin  that  Andreas, 
and  very  popular  in  the  cavalry  regiment  to  which 
he  belonged.  There  was  nothing  he  could  not  do  with 
a  horse ;  even  in  a  country  where  men  ride  from 
babyhood  he  was  reckoned  to  be  a  wonderful  rider. 
By  and  by  he  might  be  an  officer  even,  with  a  big 
clanking  sword  like  the  one  the  man  at  that  little 
table  wore,  which  was  sticking  out  into  the  street 
(some  one  would  certainly  trip  over  it,  thought  Marko, 
as  he  stood  gazing  at  the  unconscious  captain  of 
cavalry).  For  in  Serbia  there  is  nothing  strange  in 
the  sight  of  a  smart  officer  suddenly  stopping  in  his 
walk  to  embrace  a  poor  peasant  dressed  in  sheepskin 
coat  and  fur  cap,  saluting  him  as  '  uncle  '  or  '  cousin/ 
and  some  of  Serbia's  greatest  generals  have  been  men 
who  in  their  boyhood  have  herded  pigs  and  goats 
on  the  hill-sides  and  slept  in  the  little  thatched 
cottages  among  the  maize-fields. 

And  Marko  thought  less  of  those  things  than  he 
did  of  the  joy  of  having  a  horse  to  ride  and  a  gun 
of  his  own.  Of  course  he  could  shoot  already,  for 
he  was  twelve  years  old,  and  such  a  big,  sturdy  lad 
that  he  would  get  a  warm  welcome  from  the  drill- 
sergeant  when  he  turned  in  at  the  barracks  ready 
to  begin  his  time  of  service  in  his  country's  army. 

Up  and  down  the  street  of  shops  he  wandered, 
now  pausing  to  examine  the  gay  handkerchiefs  in 
the  drapers'  shops  and  wondering  which  one  he 

56 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

would  buy  for  his  sister  when  he  had  money  enough, 
now  picking  up  one  of  the  bunch  of  shoes  which 
were  hanging  outside  the  leather  shop,  to  see  how 
the  straps  were  fastened  on.  The  windows  of  the 
jewellery  shops  pleased  him  greatly,  and  he  looked 
at  the  gay  strings  of  coral,  the  yellow  amber  beads, 
and  the  silver  coin  necklets  with  more  attention 
than  at  anything,  except  the  watches,  which  were 
put  out  on  a  velvet  tray  on  one  side  of  the  shop- 
window.  Marko  could  not  tell  the  time  except  by 
the  sun,  but  he  greatly  admired  the  watches  all  the 
same. 

Most  of  the  shops  were  doing  a  brisk  trade  in  little 
'  souvenirs '  of  Banja,  for  now  that  the  days  were 
beginning  to  have  a  touch  of  autumn  in  them  many 
of  the  visitors  were  preparing  to  go,  and  of  course 
they  would  all  buy  gifts  for  their  friends  at  home. 

Marko  edged  his  way  as  near  as  he  dared  to  one 
or  two  little  family  parties,  and  watched  them  with 
breathless  interest  as  they  discussed  the  charms  of 
the  little  oak  boxes  cut  and  carved  with  '  Souvenir 
of  Banja '  in  gilt  letters  across  the  top  and  debated 
as  to  whether  a  carved  model  of  the  little  church  or 
a  crystal  ball  with  a  picture  of  Banja  in  a  snowstorm 
painted  on  one  side  of  it  was  the  more  beautiful. 

But  suddenly  Marko's  attention  wandered,  for  he 
had  seen  in  the  distance  the  people  who  fascinated 
him  more  than  any  people  he  had  ever  seen  in  the 
whole  of  his  twelve  years  of  life — the  little  group 
of  English  from  the  '  English  Mission  '  on  the  hill. 
That  was  what  the  inhabitants  of  Banja  called  the 
twenty  English  doctors  and  nurses  who  had  come  to 

57 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

live  among  them  when  the  dreaded  typhus  raged, 
and  who  had  stayed  on  after  the  fever  had  abated 
to  do  their  best  for  the  sick  peasants  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

Marko  knew  where  they  lived,  up  at  the  pretty 
balconied  Villa  Shumadia,  and  not  very  far  away  was 
their  hospital,  the  low,  whitewashed  Barrake.  He 
had  never  been  inside  the  hospital,  but  he  had  seen 
once  or  twice  when  he  had  brought  a  load  of  wood 
up  to  the  town  the  long  line  of  '  out-patients '  stand- 
ing before  the  canvas  tent  which  served  as  waiting- 
room  and  dispensary.  Sometimes  he  had  ventured 
nearer,  and  listened  to  the  Serbian  interpreter  who 
told  the  English  doctors  what  the  Serbians  said, 
and  told  the  patients  what  the  doctors  and  nurses 
wanted  them  to  do.  Although  Marko  was  a  lively 
enough  young  rascal  in  his  own  village,  he  was  rather 
shy  with  these  people  who  did  not  speak  his  own 
language,  and  though  he  often  longed  to  go  nearer 
and  see  all  the  marvels  inside  the  big  tent  with  his 
own  eyes  at  closer  quarters,  at  the  last  moment  his 
courage  always  failed  him  and  he  would  run  away 
as  if  a  wolf  were  after  him  !  There  were  two  people 
particularly  whom  he  adored  in  secret,  but  with  the 
funny  shyness  of  a  little  boy  who  has  seen  few 
people  other  than  those  of  his  own  village  for  the 
greater  part  of  his  life,  he  would  have  died  rather 
than  that  they  should  ever  notice  him  as  he  peeped 
round  the  corner  of  the  tent  door  watching  their 
every  movement,  or  stood  gazing  after  them  as  they 
passed  down  the  street. 

One  was  a  big  English  doctor   dressed  in  khaki 

58 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

clothes  with  three  stars  on  his  sleeves,  so  Marko 
knew  that  he  was  a  captain.  The  other  was  the 
little  Sister  he  always  called  in  secret  the  '  Mali 
Sestra/  because  she  was  so  little  and  took  such  tmy 
steps  as  she  walked  down  the  street  by  the  side  of 
the  other  English  people  (who  all  walked,  Marko 
thought,  as  if  they  were  in  a  big  hurry  and  took 
such  enormous  strides  that  they  seemed  to  swallow 
up  the  earth  as  they  went) . 

Some  days  when  Marko  came  into  Banja  he  did 
not  see  either  of  his  two  particular  friends,  and  then 
he  was  always  much  disappointed,  but  to-day  he  was 
in  luck,  for  they  were  both  there,  walking  down  the 
street  with  three  other  people,  all  dressed  like  the 
'  Mali  Sestra '  in  cotton  dresses  and  spotless  aprons, 
with  white  handkerchiefs  tied  over  their  hair  like 
peasant  women.  Their  clothes  and  ways  were  a  big 
puzzle  to  Marko,  for  he  was  sure  that  in  their  own 
country  they  were  rich  people,  yet  here  they  were 
walking  about  the  streets  instead  of  driving  up  and 
down  like  the  Serbian  ladies,  and  tramping  far  into 
the  mountains  instead  of  sitting  before  the  cafes 
drinking  endless  cups  of  coffee  and  eating  sugar  cakes. 

Most  of  all  Marko  liked  to  hear  the  funny  way  they 
tried  to  talk  his  language.  Some  of  them  had  been  in 
the  country  as  long  as  half  a  year  and  yet  could  say  no 
more  than  "  Dobar  dan  "  l  and  "  Koliko  koshta  "  2  when 
they  tried  to  buy  anything  from  one  of  the  market 
stalls.  But  some — and  among  these  were  included 
his  two  favourites— would  make  great  efforts  to  talk 
with  their  friends  among  the  peasant  folk,  and  oh, 

1  "  Good  day."  2  "  How  much  is  this  ? " 

59 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

joy !  evidently  to-day  they  were  making  for  the 
market-place.  Marko  hurried  after  them  breath- 
lessly, and  arrived  a  few  paces  behind  them  just 
as  they  stopped  before-  his  mother's  kola  to  admire 
baby  Chedda,  who  was  playing  contentedly  with  a 
packet  of  bright  leaves  that  Ivanka  had  picked  to 
amuse  him  while  she  was  busy.  Very  fortunately 
Dobrilla  did  not  understand  what  they  were  saying, 
for  in  Serbia  it  is  not  considered  at  all  lucky  to  praise 
a  baby  in  its  presence,  and  the  English  people  were 
saying  what  a  lovely  boy  he  was  and  admiring  his 
big  brown  eyes. 

"And  look,  Dr  Gordon/5  said  the  little  Sister, 
"  there  is  my  handsome  boy  again.  I'm  sure  this 
is  his  baby  brother — don't  you  see  how  alike  they 
are  ?  The  big  one  comes  nearly  every  Tuesday  and 
peeps  in  at  the  door  of  the  out-patients'  tent.  I'm 
sure  he  wants  to  make  friends.  Don't  look  straight 
at  him  now,  though,  or  he'll  know  we're  talking 
about  him,  and  I  do  want  him  to  forget  his  shyness. 
Pretend  to  buy  something  at  the  mother's  stall — I'm 
sure  she  is  the  mother."  And  the  little  Sister  turned 
away  and  began  to  look  at  the  apples  and  cheese 
which  were  all  that  was  left  of  Maika's  stock-in- 
trade;  for  it  had  seemed  as  though  all  Banja  had 
wanted  to  buy  that  morning,  and  Dobrilla  Yanko- 
vitch's  face  was  very  happy  as  she  felt  the  weight  of 
the  good  silver  dinara  which  were  making  her  pocket 
so  heavy  under  the  embroidered  apron. 

The  big  doctor  walked  away  from  the  stall  to  the 
grocery  shop  just  at  the  corner  where  you  could  buy 
delicious  ratluk  and  sweet  chocolate,  and  when  he 
60 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

came  out  again  his  hands  were  fuller  than  when  he 
went  in,  and  his  purse  lighter  too. 

'  How's  that  for  a  beginning  ?  "  he  said  to  the 
'  Mali  Sestra,'  who  was  now  buying  her  apples  and 
trying  to  talk  to  Maika — they  did  not  get  on  very 
fast  except  by  smiles,  but  they  knew  that  they  were 
friends,  and  that  is  more  important  than  language. 
r'  No,  you  give  it  to  him,  and  the  other  is  for  the 
solemn  little  chap  over  there.  I  feel  sure  he's  part 
of  the  family  party/'  and  the  big  doctor  handed  over 
the  two  parcels  to  the  little  Sister,  and  then  stood 
looking  down  at  them  all  with  his  hands  stuck  into 
his  trouser  pockets,  which  was  a  shocking  habit  of 
his,  and  laughing  like  the  great  boy  he  was.  The 
English  girl  turned  to  Dobrilla,  and  in  her  pretty 
halting  Serbian  she  said  :  "Is  this  your  son,  and 
this  smaller  one  too  ?  They  are  fine  boys." 

Dobrilla  smiled  and  answered :  "  Yes,  Gospodjitsa, 
they  are  both  mine,  also  the  tiny  one  whom  you 
see  playing  in  the  kola.  A  daughter  have  I  too, 
my  little  helper,  Ivanka,  and  she  is  here  also.  Come, 
Ivanka,  and  kiss  the  hand  of  the  pretty  Gospodjitsa," 
and  shy  little  Ivanka  was  gently  pushed  forward 
to  kiss  the  little  Sister's  hand,  which  she  did  in 
her  pretty,  graceful  way.  Dobrilla  Maika  had 
spoken  far  too  quickly  for  the  '  Mali  Sestra '  to 
understand  more  than  a  few  words  of  what  she 
had  said,  but  she  was  quick  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
Ivanka  was  the  little  sister  of  her  favourite  boy, 
and  she  said  quickly  to  the  big  doctor:  "  Oh ! 
we  haven't  anything  for  the  girl.  Do  run  across 
to  the  shop  and  get  a  packet  for  her  too.  I 

61 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

should  hate  to  disappoint  her  when  both  the  boys 
have  had  sweeties/'     And  of  course  the  big  doctor 
went,    while   the    '  Mali    Sestra '    turned    again    to 
Dobrilla.     "  And  what  do  you  call  your  children  ?  ' 
she  asked  Dobrilla  Maika. 

"  Here  is  Marko,"  said  Dobrilla  proudly  ;  "  he  is 
my  eldest  born,  and  will  be  tall  like  his  father,  by 
God's  help.  Ivanka  is  my  daughter  ;  and  there  is 
fat  Drago  ;  and  my  small  baby,  Chedda,  is  my 
heart's  delight,  though  a  bad  rascal  too." 

The  '  Mali  Sestra  '  caught  the  names,  and  when 
the  big  doctor  came  back  she  held  the  packets  of 
chocolates  out  to  the  children,  smiling  rather  shyly. 
'  There  is  some  chocolate,  Marko  ;  that  is  your 
chocolate.  Here,  Ivanka,  is  yours,  and  that  is  for 
Drago  and  Chedda."  It  was  not  very  good  grammar, 
perhaps,  but  you  may  be  sure  the  children  knew 
what  she  meant  !  Ivanka  and  Drago  came  readily 
enough  to  kiss  her  hand  and  say,  "  Hvala  lepo, 
Gospodjitsa,"  which  means,  of  course,  "  Thank  you 
very  much,"  but  Marko  was  so  shy  and  happy  all 
mixed  up  that  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  not  to 
run  away  and  hide  behind  the  bullock-cart,  big  boy 
as  he  was.  However,  he  was  really  much  too  polite 
to  do  that,  and  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye  fixed 
rather  anxiously  on  him — for  she  was  wondering  a 
little  if  he  had  forgotten  what  she  had  always  taught 
him — he  came  forward  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair  and  kissed  the  pretty  hand  held  out  to  him,  but 
he  could  not  say  a  word,  not  even  "  Thank  you." 

The  '  Mali  Sestra  '  could  not  think  of  any  more 
Serbian  just  then,  so  she  just  smiled  and  waved  her 
62 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

hand  to  them  all  and  said  "  Zbogom,"  l  and  they  all 
answered  "  Zbogom  "  too.  Then  she  was  gone,  with 
the  big  doctor,  and  they  joined  the  other  English 
people,  who  were  waiting  rather  impatiently  for  them 
across  the  street,  and  all  walked  up  toward  the  Villa 
Shumadia  together. 

After  that  Marko  was  not  greatly  interested  in 
anything,  for  he  was  so  excited  at  having  talked  with 
his  two  English  people  at  last  that  Dobrilla  Maika 
had  in  the  end  to  be  rather  cross  with  him  because 
he  just  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  kola  and  drummed 
his  heels  on  the  side  and  thought  about  the  new 
friends  instead  of  helping  her  to  pack  up  the  rest 
of  the  unsold  goods  and  prepare  for  the  start  home- 
ward. However,  long  before  they  reached  the  village 
he  was  his  normal  self  again,  and  then  his  mother 
stopped  scolding,  so  all  was  peace  once  more.  The 
pigs  had  sold  well,  all  except  two  which  she  had 
decided  to  keep  until  they  were  fatter,  for  the  prices 
that  had  been  offered  to  her  that  morning  did  not 
seem  sufficient,  and  she  judged  that  a  couple  more 
weeks  with  the  rest  of  the  herd  would  do  them  no 
harm.  There  was  much  to  do  when  they  got  back 
to  Novo  Selo— animals  to  feed,  a  meal  to  prepare  for 
the  hungry  ones  in  the  house,  water  to  fetch,  and 
wrood  to  chop  ;  so  Marko  and  Ivanka  bustled  about 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  while  Dobrilla  Maika  set  off 
for  the  stream  with  a  lot  of  clothes  to  wash.  She 
knelt  on  a  big  stone  by  the  side  of  the  bank  and 
pounded  away  at  the  clothes  with  another  stone, 
rinsing  them  out  in  the  cold  running  water.  One 

1  "  Good-bye." 

63 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

might  have  expected  this  treatment  to  have  a 
disastrous  effect  upon  the  clothes  ;  but  being  woven 
by  hand  of  good  strong  flax,  they  did  not  appear  to  be 
any  the  worse,  and  when  dried  were  beautifully  clean. 

Between  one  thing  and  another  it  was  many 
evenings  before  there  was  any  more  time  for  story- 
telling, but  one  night  when  October  had  come  in  with 
its  touch  of  frost  on  the  grass  and  the  stars  shone 
bright  in  the  sky  Dobrilla  gathered  her  chickens 
round  her  once  again,  this  time  in  the  warm  house 
round  the  wide  hearth  where  blazed  the  big  logs 
that  Marko  had  cut. 

And  while  the  baby  Chedda  slept  in  her  arms,  and 
Drago,  cuddling  the  cat,  nestled  against  her  wide 
skirts,  Maika,  keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  Ivanka's 
spinning  meantime,  fulfilled  the  long-made  promise 
to  Marko,  who  sat,  open-mouthed  and  wide-eyed, 
drinking  in  every  word,  as  she  told  the  tale  of  which 
he  was  never  weary,  the  story  of  the  great  fight 
between  Marko  Kraljevitch  and  the  terrible  Moossa 
Kesseyiya. 

And  this  is  the  tale  as  Maika  Yankovitch  told  it 
to  her  children  : 

HOW  MARKO  KRALJEVITCH  SLEW 
MOOSSA  KESSEYIYA 

Long,  long  ago,  in  the  days  when  Marko  Kraljevitch 
lived,  there  was  a  man  named  Moossa  and  surnamed 
Kesseyiya,  which  means  'the  Quarrelsome/  who  was 
a  rebel  against  the  Emperor  of  Turkey.  He  was  a 
great  and  powerful  rebel,  and  whenever  the  Emperor 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

sent  soldiers  to  take  him  prisoner  Moossa  always 
defeated  and  slew  them,  so  that  the  Emperor  made 
a  great  proclamation  over  all  his  empire  offering 
big  rewards  to  anyone  who  should  overcome  him. 
Many  brave  knights  went  to  try  to  gain  the  prize, 
but  none  of  these  ever  returned,  so  the  Emperor 
was  in  despair.  One  day  his  Vizier  said  to  him  : 
"  Ah,  if  Kraljevitch  Marko  were  only  here  he  would 
be  the  man  to  overcome  Moossa  Kesseyiya."  Then 
the  Emperor  looked  sadly  at  him  and  said :  "  Speak 
to  me  not  of  Marko,  for  it  is  three  years  since  I  threw 
him  into  prison,  and  the  doors  have  not  been  opened, 
so  that  he  must  be  dead/'  But  the  Vizier  went 
down  and  opened  the  doors  of  the  prison  and  brought 
out  the  Kraljevitch  Marko  and  took  him  to  the 
Emperor. 

And  Marko's  hair  had  grown  so  long  that  half  of  it 
served  as  a  mattress  and  the  other  half  for  clothing  ; 
his  nails  were  so  long  that  he  could  plough  with 
them,  and  his  face  was  like  a  black  stone. 

The  Emperor  said  :  "  Then  thou  art  still  alive, 
Marko/'  And  he  replied  :  "  Barely  living,  yet  still 
alive,  O  Emperor/'  Then  the  Emperor  asked  him : 
"  If  I  gave  you  all  my  treasure  could  you  go  down 
to  the  sea  and  overcome  this  Moossa  ?  "  And  Marko 
answered  : 

'  By  my  God,  I  could  not  do  it  now,  O  Emperor, 
for  the  dampness  of  the  prison  has  eaten  into  my 
bones  and  I  can  scarcely  see.  But  place  me  in  a 
good  inn  that  is  dry  and  give  me  good  mutton  and 
white  bread  and  wine  to  drink,  and  when  I  am  rested 
and  fed  then  will  I  fight  with  Moossa/' 

E  65 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

So  the  Emperor  sent  for  three  men,  one  to  shave 
him,  one  to  wash  him,  and  one  to  cut  his  nails.  Then 
he  put  him  in  a  good  inn  and  gave  him  all  that  he 
asked  for,  and  for  the  space  of  three  months  Marko 
stayed  there,  daily  growing  stronger.  At  last  the 
Emperor  sent  for  him  to  ask  if  he  were  strong  enough 
to  fight  Moossa.  Marko  desired  the  Emperor  to 
have  a  small  piece  of  dry  wood  brought  to  him,  and 
when  it  was  brought  he  took  it  in  his  hand  and 
pressed  it  so  that  it  broke  in  little  pieces,  yet  not  a 
drop  of  water  came  from  it. 

"  By  that  I  see/'  said  Marko,  "  that  not  yet  is  it 
time  for  me  to  venture  on  that  fight/' 

So  he  returned  to  his  inn  and  remai-ned  there  for 
the  space  of  another  month,  eating  and  drinking 
till  he  felt  still  stronger.  Once  more  he  came  into 
the  presence  of  the  Emperor,  and  asked  for  the  dry 
stick  to  be  brought,  and  this  time,  as  he  squeezed 
it  in  his  hand,  two  drops  of  water  came  from  its 
dryness.  "  And  now/'  said  Marko,  "  can  I  venture 
on  that  duel/'  So  he  went  to  the  swordsman  Novak, 
and  said : 

"  O  Novak,  thou  maker  of  swords,  make  me  a 
sword  which  shall  have  no  equal  in  the  whole  world/' 

And  after  he  had  spent  four  more  days  in  his  inn 
drinking  red  wine  he  went  again  to  the  swordsmith's 
workshop  and  Novak  gave  him  his  sword. 

""Is  it  good?  "  asked  Marko. 

"Here  is  the  sword  and  there  the  anvil;  thou 
canst  try  of  what  quality  is  thy  sword,"  answered 
the  smith.  And  when  Marko  struck  the  anvil  with 
the  sword,  behold,  it  cleft  the  mass  of  iron  in  two. 
66 


Here  is  the  sword  and  there  the  anvil " 

WILLIAM  SEWELI. 


66 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

"  O  swordsmith  Novak,  hast  ever  made  a  better 
sword  ?  "  cried  Marko. 

"  Once  only,"  said  the  smith,  "  did  I  make  a  better 
sword,  but  it  was  for  a  better  warrior,  for  before 
Moossa  left  for  the  sea-coast  as  a  rebel  I  made  him 
a  sword  with  which  he  cut  through  the  anvil  easily, 
not  sparing  the  oak-tree  on  which  it  struck."  This 
angered  Marko,  who  mounted  his  magic  horse  and 
rode  to  the  sea-coast,  where  he  wandered,  asking 
all  the  time  where  he  should  find  Moossa,  till  one 
morning  he  saw  the  man  himself,  sitting  on  his 
black  horse  with  crossed  legs  and  throwing  his  heavy 
mace  high  into  the  air,  then  catching  it  in  his  white 
hands. 

As  the  two  men  met  Marko  began  : 

"  O  Moossa,  move  aside  that  I  may  pass  along 
the  path.  Either  move  aside  or  pay  thy  respects  to 
me/' 

And  Moossa  replied  :  "  Pass  on  quietly,  O  Marko, 
for  I  would  not  start  a  quarrel.  And  let  us  instead 
dismount  from  our  horses  and  drink  wine  together. 
For  as  for  thy  demand  that  I  should  move  aside  to 
let  thee  pass,  know  well  that  that  I  will  never  do  ! 
I  know  full  well  that  thy  mother  was  a  queen  and 
that  thou  wast  born  in  a  great  castle  and  cradled  on 
silken  cushions,  that  thou  wast  clothed  in  pure 
soft  silk  and  girdled  with  golden  thread  while  thy 
mother  fed  thee  on  honey  and  sugar. 

"  I  was  the  child  of  a  fierce  Albanian  shepherdess, 
and  sheep  were  my  playmates.  There  was  nothing 
to  clothe  me  but  the  coarse  black  tartan,  and  a 
blackberry  briar  was  my  girdle.  My  mother  raised 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

me  by  feeding  me  only  on  oats,  yet  she  made  me 
vow  that  before  no  one  and  never  should  I  move 
away  or  aside.  Certainly  I  will  not  move  aside  to 
let  thee  pass  !  " 

When  Marko  heard  these  bold  words  he  threw 
his  lance,  aiming  at  Moossa's  breast  ;  but  Moossa, 
seated  on  his  mare,  caught  it  and  threw  it  high  above 
his  head.  Then  Moossa  took  his  battle-lance  to 
hurl  at  Marko,  but  Marko  broke  it  into  three  pieces 
on  his  mace.  Then  they  drew  their  swords  and 
rushed  at  one  another.  Marko  gathered  his  strength 
to  strike  Moossa,  but  Moossa  placed  his  mace  as  a 
shield  and  the  sword  of  Marko  shivered  and  broke, 
while  he  also  placed  his  mace  as  a  shield  and  the 
sword  of  Moossa  broke  near  the  hilt.  Then  they 
struck  wildly  with  their  maces  till  they  broke  them 
and  threw  them  on  the  grass  as  useless  weapons. 
They  both  sprang  from  their  horses  then  and  caught 
each  other  and  wrestled  all  the  morning,  for  they 
were  real  heroes.  Neither  could  bring  the  other  to 
the  earth,  and  white  foam  came  on  Moossa's  lips, 
but  the  foam  on  the  lips  of  Marko  was  tinged  with 
blood. 

Moossa  said  :  "  Either  throw  me  down,  Marko, 
or  let  me  throw  you  down."  So  Marko  tried  his 
hardest,  but  he  could  not  throw  Moossa  to  the 
ground  ;  yet  when  Moossa  lifted  Marko  he  threw 
him  down  on  the  green  grass  and  knelt  on  his  breast. 
Then  Marko,  the  Prince,  cried  out  sadly  : 

"  Ah,  where  art  thou  to-day,  my  sister  in  God, 
my  fairy  sister  ?  Where  art  thou  to-day  ?  Was 
thine  oath  false  when  thou  swore  to  me  that  when- 
68 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

ever  I  was  in  danger  thou  wouldst  be  near  to  help 
me-?  " 

And  from  the  clouds  the  Fairy  answered  :  "  Why, 
brother  in  God  Kraljevitch  Marko,  hast  thou  for- 
gotten so  quickly  my  warning  never  to  start  to  quarrel 
on  a  Sunday  ?  And  hast  thou  forgotten  thy  secret 
snakes  ?  " 

Moossa  turned  his  head  to  listen  to  the  Fairy's 
voice,  and  as  he  did  so  Marko  drew  out  his  sharp  knife 
and  killed  him.  And  when  Marko  looked,  behold, 
Moossa  had  three  hearts,  and  on  the  third  a  snake  was 
sleeping.  When  the  snake  awoke  she  said  to  Marko  : 

"  Praise  God,  O  Kraljevitch  Marko,  that  I  was  not 
awake  when  Moossa  was  alive,  because  then  three 
hundred  evils  would  have  befallen  thee." 

When  Marko  saw  this  and  heard  the  snake  speak 
he  wept,  and  the  tears  ran  down  his  face,  for,  deeply 
grieving,  he  said  :  "  Alas  and  alas  to  me  !  May  the 
gracious  God  forgive  me  that  I  killed  a  far  better 
knight  than  I  am/'  And  cutting  off  the  head  of 
Moossa,  he  threw  it  into  the  oats  bag  of  Sharats  and 
rode  with  it  to  white  Stamboul.  And  when  he  was 
brought  before  the  Emperor  he  threw  down  the 
head  of  Moossa  at  his  feet,  and  when  the  Emperor, 
frightened,  sprang  up,  Marko  said  only :  "  Fear 
not,  my  Lord  the  Emperor  !  If  from  the  dead  head 
of  Moossa  thou  springest  up  in  a  fright,  what  wouldst 
thou  have  done  if  thou  hadst  met  him  in  the  days 
when  he  still  lived  ?  " 

And  that  is   the  end  of  the  story  of  the  fight 
between  Moossa  the  Quarrelsome   and  Marko  the 

69 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

King's  son,  as  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  told  it  to  her 
children  as  they  sat  round  the  hearth  and  fed  its 
red  blaze  with  the  logs  that  Marko  cut,  who  was 
not  a  king's  son,  but  only  a  sleepy  little  peasant 
boy. 


70 


CHAPTER  III  :   CHRISTMAS  AT 
NOVO  SELO 

AND  so  the  days  went  on  and  autumn  passed 
into  early  winter.  In  Serbia  the  forest 
trees  hold  their  leaves  late,  and  even  when 
November  came  and  the  snow  lay  white  on  the 
maize-fields,  still  a  few  slopes  remained  bright  and 
cheery  with  the  coloured  leaves.  But  how  cold  and 
clear  was  the  air,  and  what  chilly  work  it  was  wash- 
ing the  clothes  in  the  little  stream  !  Even  the  few 
pailfuls  of  heated  water  did  not  make  washing-day 
a  pleasant  one,  and  Maika  and  Ivanka  used  to  come 
back  with  reddened  fingers  and  pinched  toes  from 
the  banks  of  the  stream.  When  Marko  took  the 
oxen  and  sledge  up  to  the  woods  for  fuel  he  had  to 
dance  and  blow  on  his  mittened  fingers  to  keep  a 
little  warmth  and  feeling  in  them.  Trudging  along 
by  the  side  of  the  slow-moving  oxen  was  far  too 
chilly  work  those  days. 

Although  the  harvest  had  all  been  garnered  in, 
the  children  yet  found  plenty  of  work  to  do,  dragging 
brushwood  under  cover,  carrying  piles  of  maize 
stalks  for  the  cattle,  and  helping  Maika  to  put  the 
neglected  vineyard  in  order.  What  busy  days  they 
had  then  !  For  only  six  months  of  neglect  had 
caused  the  brambles  to  twine  themselves  everywhere 
among  the  vines,  choking  their  growth  and  spoiling 
any  young  and  vigorous  vine  branch  which  was 
doing  its  best  to  struggle  into  freedom.  Maika 
especially  mourned  over  the  neglected  vine  terraces, 
for  not  only  did  they  remind  her  of  her  childhood's 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

home  near  the  Danube,  where  such  beautiful  grapes 
grow  on  every  hill-side,  but  also  her  husband,  big 
Marko  the  Silent,  had  made  the  terraces  and  planted 
the  young  vines  when  first  they  came  to  Novo  Selo 
to  begin  their  married  life.  Ivanka  shared  her  love 
for  the  work,  but  Marko  liked  better  to  be  wood- 
cutter or  swineherd ;  still  he  took  his  part  in  the 
digging  all  the  same. 

One  morning  they  had  been  working  long  and  hard, 
digging  deeply  round  the  roots  of  the  vines,  Maika, 
Marko,  and  Ivanka  all  bending  over  their  spades, 
and  Drago  tugging  away  at  the  brambles. 

Presently  there  would  be  a  big  bonfire  of  the 
weeds,  and  the  children  looked  forward  to  making 
that,  for  they  loved  a  bonfire  as  children  do  all  over 
the  world.  Marko  straightened  his  back  and  stood 
leaning  on  his  spade. 

"  Bozhe!  but  we  have  worked  to-day/'  he  said. 
"  See,  Maika,  how  far  the  ground  is  clear.  Are 
we  not  three  famous  workmen,  thou  and  Ivanka 
and  I  ?  " 

"  Not  to  mention  Drago,"  said  Dobrilla  Yanko- 
vitch,  stopping  too  for  a  moment  to  rest  her  tired 
arms,  which  ached  from  the  weight  of  the  heavy  spade 
and  her  vigorous  exertions  of  the  past  three  hours. 
'  Yet  who  wishes  to  rest  when  he  gets  old  ought 
to  work  while  he  is  young.  Remember  that,  my 
Marko,  and  do  not  be  measuring  every  mattockful 
of  earth  that  thou  diggest  as  if  it  were  fine  gold  !  ''' 

Marko  grinned  and  looked  down  the  slope.  "  Yet 
all  the  same  I  see  very  well  that  thy  little  Marko  is  a 
famous  digger,  and  in  another  hour  thou  shalt  see 
72 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

how  the  fallen  terraces  are  being  built  up  by  the  help 
of  his  strong  right  arm." 

rr  Good,  very  good,"  said  Ivanka,  "  but  for  my 
part  I  should  think,  Marko,  that  more  work  would 
be  done  if  less  noise  were  made.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  hear  even  the  stream  running  over  the  stones 
all  the  morning  for  the  noise  of  thy  chattering/' 

"  '  Woe  to  the  legs  under  a  foolish  head/  "  cried 
Marko,  quoting  a  Serbian  proverb.  "  '  Women  are 
there  to  talk  and  men  to  work/  " 

"  That  is  as  may  be,"  retorted  Ivanka,  "  but  the 
people  who  made  the  sayings  were  all  men,  who  did 
not  know  my  mother  and  me,  or  they  would  never 
have  said  such  foolishness.  All  the  world  knows  that 
'  Where  there  is  no  wife  there  is  no  home/  " 

"  But  thou  art  not  a  wife  !  "  cried  Marko,  "  only 
a  young  and  ignorant  girl.  And  anyway  a  girl  can 
never  keep  a  secret— only  the  ones  she  knows  nothing 
about !  " 

"  I  am  not  a  wife,  but  my  mother  is  one,"  replied 
Ivanka,  with  dignity ;  "  and  as  for  keeping  secrets, 
maybe  I  can  keep  them  better  than  thou — if  they 
are  worth  keeping.  -And  I  can  dig  as  long  and  as 
deep  as  any  boy  !  ' 

There  is  a  Serbian  proverb  which  says  that  "  Where 
big  bells  ring  the  little  bells  are  not  heard,"  and  Maika 
thought  the  time  had  come  to  stop  this  squabbling, 
so  she  came  up  the  slope  and  started  working  nearer 
the  two  children,  and  proposed  that  she  should  tell 
them  a  story  while  they  rested  for  a  moment. 

"  And  indeed,"  she  said,  "  you  have  both  been 
good  labourers  to-day,  and  there  is  time  and  enough 

73 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

to  work  again  when  those  backs  shall  ache  a  little 
less.  So  Ivanka  shall  bring  Chedda  from  the  door- 
way, where  I  see  him  rolling  in  the  earth,  the  rascal, 
all  in  his  clean  gown  too,  and  she  shall  bring  with 
her  a  morsel  of  cheese  and  a  slice  of  bread  for  each. 
Then  shall  we  eat  together  and  afterward  work.  I 
too  am  more  than  a  little  weary/' 

Ivanka  trotted  down  the  hill  very  readily,  and 
soon  came  -back  with  Chedda  riding  pick-a-back, 
and  in  her  hands  a  basket  of  food.  Then  they  all 
sat  peaceably  down  on  a  heap  of  dry  rubbish.  And 
after  they  had  eaten,  Maika  told  the  third  of  the  three 
stories  the  children  had  once  clamoured  for,  and  that 
was  the  story  of  how  Marko  the  Prince  paid  the 
Bride  Tax. 

HOW  MARKO  KRALJEVITCH   PAID  THE 
BRIDE  TAX 

One  morning  early,  Marko  the  King's  son  was 
riding  down  the  plain  of  Kossovo,  and  when  he 
arrived  at  the  stream  of  Servani  he  met  there  a 
maid  of  Kossovo,  whom  he  greeted  courteously, 
wishing  her  God's  help.  The  maid  bowed  deeply, 
almost  touching  the  ground  before  him.  "  Mayst 
thou  be  of  good  health  too,  O  Unknown  Knight." 
Marko  then  began  to  talk  to  her. 

"  Dear  sister,  Maid  of  Kossovo,  thou  art  hand- 
some and  young,  with  fine  brave  glance  and  bright 
eyes  :  what  is  the  cause  that  thou,  still  so  young, 
hast  lost  thy  happiness  ?  Have  thy  parents  crossed 
thee,  or  thy  lover  proved  untrue  ?  ' 

74 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

And  the  maid  answered  him  and  told  him  that 
the  cause  of  her  unhappiness  was  the  terrible  Black 
Negro  who  had  come  from  over  the  sea  nine  years 
before  and  made  himself  Lord  of  Kossovo.  "  And," 
she  said,  "  he  is  a  cruel  tyrant  who  has  made  all 
sorts  of  tyrannies  over  the  people,  who  must  supply 
him  with  food  and  drink,  and  be  killed  if  they  refuse. 
And  he  has  made  a  wedding  tax,  so  that  a  bride 
must  pay  thirty  ducats  of  gold  and  a  bridegroom 
forty  before  they  may  marry.  My  father  is  dead 
and  my  brothers  are  poor  and  my  lover  and  I  can 
never  be  happy  because  we  have  not  sufficient 
money,  nor  can  we  gain  enough  to  satisfy  the  Negro. 
And  now  I  am  to  be  sold  to  him  as  a  slave,  and  I  am 
thinking  whether  I  shall  throw  myself  into  the  river 
ere  it  shall  be.  I  will  do  anything  rather  than  serve 
such  a  cruel  master/' 

And  Marko  said  to  her  :  "  Do  not  grieve  so,  dear 
sister,  Maid  of  Kossovo,  and  think  not  of  so  sad  a 
fate  as  that.  Only  tell  me  where  is  the  castle  of 
the  Black  Negro,  and  I  will  go  and  talk  a  little  with 
him." 

Then  the  Maid  of  Kossovo  had  pity  for  Marko 
and  implored  him  not  to  go,  for  the  Negro  would 
certainly  kill  him. 

"  Maybe/'  she  said,  "  thou  art  the  only  son  of  thy 
mother — what  would  she  do  without  thee  if  thou 
wert  to  be  slain  ?  ' 

Then  Marko  took  thirty  gold  pieces  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  them  to  the  maid,  saying  :  rr  Here 
is  thy  marriage  money,  but  it  will  never  be  needed 
for  wedding  tax,  only  for  dowry,  for  I  am  minded 

75 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

to  kill  the  Negro.  But  first  I  will  go  and  pay  the 
wedding  tax  for  thee.  Perchance  the  Negro  will 
not  wish  to  kill  me  if  I  bring  him  money  !  ' 

Then  the  Maid  of  Kossovo  showed  him  in  the 
distance  a  flagstaff  with  a  flag.  "  There  is  the  Black 
Negro.  He  has  no  castle,  but  lives  under  a  tent. 
Round  that  tent  is  a  green  field,  and  on  the  fence 
are  the  heads  of  seventy  bridegrooms  from  the  Plains 
of  Kossovo  whom  the  Negro  has  slain.  He  has 
forty  servants  who  are  his  body-guard. 

Then  Marko  kissed  the  maid  good-bye,  and  she 
wept,  for  she  feared  he  was  going  to  his  death.  But 
Marko  rode  across  the  plains.  And  he  was  angry 
that  such  a  tyrant  should  kill  his  people.  Sharats 
was  angry  too,  and  from  his  iron  shoes  fire  was 
streaming,  while  from  his  nostrils  a  blue  flame 
leapt. 

And  his  master  said  to  himself  as  he  rode  and 
saw  the  heads  round  the  courtyard  :  "  To-day,  my 
brothers,  I  will  avenge  you,  or  lose  my  own  life," 
and  he  went  straight  toward  the  tent. 

The  forty  servants  saw  him  coming  and  went  to 
their  master,  saying  :  "  Lord  Negro  from  Across 
the  Sea,  here  is  a  strange  knight  coming  toward  us 
on  a  piebald  horse,  an  angry  horse,  from  the  shoes 
of  which  a  lively  fire  is  streaming  and  from  the 
nostrils  of  which  a  blue  flame  leaps.  He  is  coming 
to  attack  us.  Shall  we  strike  ?  '  But  the  Negro 
in  his  pride  thought  that  no  one  could  be  so  bold 
as  to  do  that,  and  he  told  them  it  was  only  a  bride- 
groom coming  to  pay  the  wedding  tax. 

"So  go  out  from  the  courtyard  and  receive  him 


"  What  is  the  cause  that  thou,  still  so  young,  hast 
lost  thy  happiness  ?  " 

WILLIAM  SEWELL 


76 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

kindly  ;  bow  your  heads  humbly  before  him  and 
help  him  to  dismount  ;  take  in  charge  his  horse  and 
arms  and  bring  him  here  to  me  in  my  tent.  For  I 
do  not  want  his  gold,  but  I  will  take  his  head/' 

Yet  when  the  guards  saw  Marko  coming  his  fierce 
looks  terrified  them  so  that  they  dared  not  go  out 
to  meet  him,  and  hid  themselves  behind  their 
master's  tent,  covering  their  swords  with  their  cloaks 
so  that  Marko  could  not  see  they  were  armed. 

Marko  entered  the  courtyard  alone  and  dis- 
mounted, saying  to  Sharats :  "  Walk  about  the 
courtyard,  my  beloved  magic  horse,  but  go  not  too 
far  from  the  entrance  of  the  tent,  lest  I  need  thee/' 
Then  he  entered  the  tent  of  the  Black  Negro. 

The  Negro  was  sitting  there  drinking  wine,  and  he 
asked  Marko  to  sit  and  drink  with  him  and  tell  him 
why  he  had  come.  Marko  answered  that  he  had 
no  time  to  drink,  for  he  had  left  the  wedding  guests 
upon  the  road,  he  coming  alone  to  pay  the  v/edding 
tax,  that  he  might  lead  the  bride  safely  home. 
"  But  first  tell  me,"  he  said,  "  how  much  is  the 
wedding  tax  ?  '  The  Negro  replied :  "  Thou 
knowest  well  how  much  it  is.  For  the  bride  thirty 
pieces  of  gold  and  for  the  bridegroom  forty.  Yet 
as  thou  art  a  knight  it  is  only  just  that  thou  shouldst 
pay  a  hundred  ducats/' 

Marko  threw  three  ducats  on  the  table  and  said  : 
'  I  have  no  more  to  give  thee,  but  wait  till  I  return 
from  the  bride's  home  :  I  will  get  there  many  presents, 
all  of  which  I  will  bring  to  thee/' 

At  this  the  Negro  jumped  up  in  terrible  anger. 
"  Thou  jestest  with  me — thou  dost  laugh  at  me  !  " 

77 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

And  with  his  mace  he  struck  Marko  three  times. 
The  Prince  only  laughed  loudly.  "  Is  that  a  blow 
in  earnest  or  art  thou  joking  ?  '  Again  the  Negro 
screamed  :  "  I  do  not  joke  !  I  strike  in  earnest  !  ' 

"  I  thought  thou  wast  only  playing  and  did 
not  strike  in  earnest/'  answered  Marko.  "  But  as 
thou  sayest  thou  art  in  earnest,  I  also  have  a  mace, 
know,  O  Negro  !  And  I  will  strike  thee  as  many 
times  as  thou  hast  struck  me." 

Marko  then  raised  his  mace,  and  his  first  blow 
killed  the  Black  Negro.  Then  he  slew  and  cut  off 
the  heads  of  all  the  guards  save  four,  whom  he  saved 
only  that  they  might  truly  tell  what  had  taken  place. 
He  took  down  the  heads  of  the  seventy  bridegrooms 
and  buried  them  ;  then  he  sent  the  four  guards  in 
all  directions  through  the  plain  of  Kossovo  to 
announce  as  heralds  his  words  :  '  Wherever  there 
is  a  young  girl,  let  her  marry  while  she  is  young,  and 
wherever  there  is  a  young  man  let  him  look  for  a 
wife  and  then  marry.  Henceforth  there  is  no  longer 
a  wedding  tax.  Marko  has  paid  that  tax  for  all 
and  for  ever  !  'J 

And  now  all  the  people,  both  old  and  young, 
cried  out :  "  May  God  bless  the  Royal  Prince  Marko, 
who  has  delivered  our  country  from  the  cruel  tyrant ! 
May  his  soul  and  his  body  find  forgiveness  in  God  !  'J 

Maika's  voice  ceased  and  she  looked  round  smiling 
on  the  listening  children.  '-'  That  is  a  fine  tale/' 
said  Marko,  "  but  I  wish  I  had  been  there  to  see  him 
slay  the  tyrant/' 

"  And  how  glad  I  am  that  the  poor  people  need 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

pay  no  more  the  wicked  tax  !  "  said  Ivanka  eagerly, 
and  she  and  Marko  went  on  digging  contentedly 
side  by  side  and  discussing  the  Maid  of  Kossovo, 
quite  forgetting  their  little  quarrel  of  an  hour  before. 

Dobrilla  Yankovitch  only  smiled  a  little  as  she 
went  on  with  her  work,  for  she  was  a  very  wise 
mother. 

They  worked  for  many  days  at  the  vineyard,  for 
the  heavy  rains  of  October  had  washed  much  of  the 
earth  down  and  they  were  obliged  to  bank  it  up  again 
and  carry  many  loads  of  fresh  soil  to  fill  the  water- 
holes.  The  soil  was  heavy  clay,  and  it  was  necessary 
also  to  bring  good  manure  to  work  in  with  it  and 
make  it  lighter.  Still  they  worked  with  a  will,  and 
little  by  little  they  got  the  once  neglected,  deserted- 
looking  vineyard  into  good  order,  and  then  they  were 
free  to  do  some  of  the  other  work  which  had  been 
left  undone  during  this  time.  Some  duties  there 
were,  of  course,  which  had  to  be  seen  to  every  day : 
cows  and  pigs,  goats  and  hens,  must  be  fed  at  the 
proper  times,  the  cows  and  goats  milked,  and  the  eggs 
brought  in  from  the  nests. 

Dobrilla's  house  was  always  neat  and  tidy, 
although  it  was  so  small,  and  four  young  children 
need  many  meals,  which  must  be  prepared  even 
though  fifty  vineyards  want  digging.  Then  there 
were  stockings  to  knit  and  clothes  to  make  and 
mend,  spinning  and  weaving,  baking  and  brewing 
to  be  done — why,  there  was  never  a  second  in  which 
Maika's  hands  were  unemployed  ;  and  her  head  was 
always  in  requisition  as  well  as  her  hands,  for  one 
or  other  of  the  three  elder  children  was  continually 

79 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

running  to  her  with  a  question  or  a  difficulty.  Marko 
brought  the  wood  down  from  the  forests  and  cut 
the  logs,  he  herded  the  cows  and  fed  the  pigs,  mended 
the  gaps  in  the  fences  and  repaired  the  thatched 
roof  when  it  leaked,  while  little  Ivanka  helped  her 
mother  to  knit  and  sew,  took  care  of  Chedda,  and 
fed  the  chickens. 

Drago  was  just  a  little  fat  mischief,  but  he  could 
be  very  useful  all  the  same,  and  he  followed  Ivanka 
everywhere  like  a  shadow.  It  was  really  a  very 
happy  household,  in  spite  of  hard  work  and  little 
money.  But  one  day  trouble  came  to  Novo  Selo. 
For  little  Chedda  was  taken  ill.  He  lay  fretful  in 
his  mother's  arms,  heavy  and  feverish,  with  hot  hands 
and  a  sore  throat.  It  was  so  unlike  rosy,  laughing 
Chedda  to  lie  still  and  weary  against  his  mother's 
breast  that  the  other  children  stood  looking  at  him 
with  puzzled  faces.  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  tried  all 
the  simple  remedies  she  knew,  but  nothing  seemed 
to  ease  him,  and  even  when  he  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep 
he  started  up  from  time  to  time,  beating  his  little 
hands  against  his  mother  as  though  he  were  choking. 
All  that  night  Dobrilla  walked  about  with  him  in 
her  arms,  singing  softly  to  him  and  trying  to  soothe 
him.  In  the  morning  she  could  see  that  he  was  no 
better,  but  rather  worse,  for  now  he  could  not  even 
swallow  the  clear  cold  water  she  tried  to  make  him 
drink,  and  though  he  shivered  in  her  arms  as  if  he 
were  cold,  yet  his  skin  was  burning  hot  and  so  was 
the  little  head.  And  now  a  fresh  anxiety  came  upon 
poor  Maika,  for  Drago  too  became  unwell,  and  lay 
in  his  bed  hot  and  restless.  He  too  would  not  eat, 
80 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

and  said  his  throat  pained  him.  "  Boli  mi  gousha— 
boli,  boli !  "  l  he  kept  crying  continually,  till  Dobrilla 
could  not  think  what  to  do.  These  children  of  hers 
were  so  dear  to  her,  all  she  had  now  her  man  was 
gone,  and  she  was  so  unused  to  sickness.  They  had 
always  been  so  strong  and  healthy,  and  never  before 
had  she  known  one  of  them  to  ail  anything,  save 
perhaps  from  a  small  pain  in  the  stomach,  from  eating 
too  many  unripe  plums  or  an  unwisely  big  supper  of 
roast  pork  !  So  illness  like  this  left  poor  Maika  utterly 
bewildered,  and  as  she  sat  on  the  big  bed,  holding 
Chedda  on  her  arm  and  trying  to  comfort  Drago, 
she  felt  almost  in  despair. 

And  it  was  Marko  who  first  made  the  suggestion 
which  saved  little  Chedda.  He  had  been  thinking 
hard  all  the  morning  as  he  drew  water  from  the  well, 
and  chopped  the  sticks  and  made  the  fire. 

"  My  mother,"  he  said,  with  his  little  air  of  gravity, 
"  the  baby  brother  is  very  sick  ;  maybe  he  will  die 
unless  we  can  bring  help  soon.  Suppose  that  thou 
and  I  took  him  to  the  English  doctors  in  Banja. 
We  could  go  quite  well,  thou  in  the  kola,  with  Chedda 
and  Drago  very  warm  in  blankets  beside  thee ; 
and  perhaps  the  doctors  there  would  know  what  to 
do.  Thou  knowest  how  they  saved  the  lives  of  so 
many  when  the  typhus  came." 

Maika's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  they  gazed  down 
at  her  baby  boy,  and  she  crossed  herself  as  she  looked 
up  to  the  holy  picture  on  the  wall,  praying  that 
St  John,  who  was  the  patron  saint  of  the  little 
household,  would  make  Chedda  strong  again. 

1  "  My  throat  hurts  me— it  hurts,  it  hurts  ! " 
F  8l 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

11  That  is  all  well/'  said  Marko  bluntly,  "  but  while 
we  pray  perhaps  Chedda  dies.  /  think  St  John  will 
be  better  pleased  if  we  place  Chedda  in  the  kola 
and  pray  to  him  as  we  go  along.  It  will  do  as  well, 
I  think.  Say  that  we  may  go,  Maika,  and  I  will  run 
and  make  ready  the  bullocks  and  the  kola" 

Maika  looked  again  at  Chedda,  then  at  Drago. 

"  My  son  Marko,  we  will  go/'  she  said.  "  Thou 
and  I  will  go  together,  for  oh,  I  am  distracted  that 
my  littlest  one  should  suffer  so  !  Never  shall  his 
mother  hold  back  from  anything  that  will  aid  him, 
and  I  know  the  English  doctors  in  Ban] a  are  kind 
and  clever.  We  will  go  now  to  them  and  ask  them 
to  help  us." 

Marko  did  not  wait  for  any  more,  but  rushed  out 
of  the  house  and  yoked  the  oxen.  Ivanka  piled 
great  armfuls  of  maize  stalks  into  the  kola  to  make 
a  soft  bed  for  Drago  to  lie  on,  then  she  spread  a 
blanket  over  them,  and  Maika  came  presently  out 
of  the  house  carrying  Drago  muffled  in  his  sheepskin 
coat  and  a  big  blanket  over  that.  Ivanka  pulled 
his  fur  cap  well  over  his  ears  and  he  nestled  down 
among  the  warmth  with  a  little  shiver.  Maika  went 
into  the  house  again  and  came  back  carrying  Chedda, 
wrapped  up  like  a  small  mummy  against  the  chill 
wind.  She  laid  him  down  next  to  Drago  so  that  the 
wooden  sides  of  the  cart  would  protect  him  some- 
what from  the  cold,  heaping  more  coverings  on  both 
of  them  till  little  of  them  could  be  seen. 

Ivanka  watched  them  out  of  the  gate.  Her 
brown  eyes  were  very  big  and  round  and  she  was 
rather  afraid  of  crying,  but  she  was  a  wise  little  soul 
82 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

and  she  knew  that  Marko  had  thought  of  the  best 
possible  thing  to  do,  and  in  the  meantime  she  would 
take  care  to  keep  the  house  warm  for  the  time  when 
they  should  return  from  Ban] a.  She  knew  too  that 
if  you  are  not  very  happy  it  is  a  good  plan  to  be  as 
busy  as  possible ;  so  she  did  everything  she  could 
imagine  to  fill  up  the  time. 

To  Dobrilla  the  road  to  Ban]  a  seemed  endless, 
though  Marko  did  his  best  to  goad  the  bullocks  into 
a  quicker  pace  than  their  usual  slow  walk.  But  at 
last  they  reached  the  long  white  Barrake,  and  the 
oxen  were  tethered  near  by,  while  Dobrilla  carried 
Chedda  and  Marko  took  Drago's  hand  and  they 
went  toward  the  big  tent  where  the  out-patients 
were  seen. 

There  was  a  little  crowd  of  waiting  peasants,  men 
and  women  and  a  few  children,  but  the  morning  was 
well  advanced  so  that  the  greater  number  of  patients 
had  been  seen.  They  were  talking  in  low  voices 
among  themselves,  and  from  time  to  time  the  in- 
terpreter would  come  to  the  door  and  fetch  another 
one  inside  the  tent.  Marko  and  his  mother  stood 
patiently  waiting  for  their  turn.  It  was  very  cold, 
and  Marko  tried  to  keep  the  wind  from  Drago  as  far 
as  possible  by  standing  behind  him  with  his  arms 
on  the  smaller  boy's  shoulders.  But  how  long  the 
waiting  time  seemed,  and  for  Maika,  with  Chedda 
lying  more  and  more  heavily  in  her  arms,  it  was 
almost  endless.  Her  big  eyes  were  full  of  weary 
patience,  and  as  she  stood  by  the  tent  holding  the 
child  she  looked  like  some  sorrowful  Madonna. 

But  at  last  their  turn  came,  and  in  answer  to 

83 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

the  interpreter's  beckoning  finger  they  moved  inside 
the  warm  tent.  In  front  of  them  stood  a  tall  English 
nurse  with  a  kind,  pleasant  face  and  grey  hair  under 
her  white  cap. 

"  Find  out  what  is  the  matter  with  this  little  man 
first/'  she  said,  as  she  looked  first  at  the  baby  then 
at  Drago  with  her  keen  grey  eyes.  And  then  Maika 
poured  her  story  into  the  interpreter's  ear. 

"  Do  not  tremble  so,  mother,"  he  said  reassuringly 
to  her.  "  I  will  tell  the  Sister  what  thou  sayest 
and  soon  the  doctor  will  come  to  look  at  thy  little 
one.  Do  not  be  afraid  ;  he  shall  quickly  be  made 
well  if  God  wills.  And  this  other  one— is  he  ill 
too  ?  " 

Marko  gently  pushed  Drago  forward  and  told  the 
interpreter  about  the  pain  in  his  throat  and  the 
fever,  for  Maika  was  trembling  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  speak.  The  Englishwoman  took  Chedda 
from  her  very  gently,  and  turned,  holding  him  in 
her  arms,  toward  the  big  doctor,  who  came  from 
the  back  of  the  tent. 

"  Here  are  the  last  patients  for  this  morning,  Dr 
Gordon,"  she  said  ;  "  and  the  baby  is  rather  bad, 
poor  little  fellow.  They  should  have  brought  him 
sooner." 

Dr  Gordon  looked  at  Chedda's  throat  and  asked 
many  questions  about  him ;  then  he  turned  to  the 
Sister.  "Dip.,"  he  said  shortly,  "  and  he's  about  as 
bad  as  he  can  be.  Of  course  he'll  have  to  come  in 
at  once.  Will  you  give  him  to  the  mother  and  tell 
them  to  get  everything  ready  for  me  at  once.  I'll 
do  what  I  can  for  him  now."  And  then  he  turned 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

to  Marko.  "  Why,  it's  Sister  Bennett's  pet  family  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  and  taking  Drago  with  him  to  the  light 
he  looked  at  him  more  closely. 

"  Yes,  he's  got  it  too,  but  more  mildly.  Of 
course,  bringing  them  out  in  this  weather  would  have 
finished  any  English  kiddies  as  bad  as  these,  but 
being  Serbs  luckily  it  hasn't  put  the  tin  lid  on." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  interpreter. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  the  mother  that  she  must  leave 
both  the  children  in  the  hospital  with  us,"  he  said. 
'  Tell  her  they  will  be  happy  enough,  but  they're 
both  far  too  bad  to  go  home.  And  tell  her  that 
we're  going  to  put  a  little  silver  tube  in  the  baby's 
throat  so  that  he  can  breathe — till  he's  better — will 
you  ?  Tell  her  it  won't  hurt  him— that  we'll  make 
him  quite  comfy.  And  be  as  quick  as  you  can, 
will  you — because  there's  no  time  to  lose  if  we're 
going  to  pull  this  youngster  through/'  And  after 
a  look  at  Marko's  throat  he  walked  toward  the 
back  of  the  tent,  while  the  interpreter  explained  to 
Dobrilla  Yankovitch  what  the  doctor  had  said  in  his 
funny  slangy  English.  Poor  Dobrilla  did  not  know 
how  to  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  both  her  children 
behind  her,  but  the  interpreter  was  very  kind  and 
patient  and  explained  so  carefully  that  they  would 
do  everything  in  their  power  to  help  poor  wee  Chedda 
that  presently  she  gave  her  sons  into  the  kind  arms 
of  Sister  Douglas  with  a  gentle  air  of  dignity  and 
sorrow  which  went  straight  to  the  Sister's  heart, 
and  went  out  of  the  tent  with  Marko,  leaving  a  very 
puzzled  but  quite  contented  Drago— for  he  was  a 
philosophical  little  man,  and  after  Marko  had  told 

85 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

him  that  he  was  to  be  a  brave  '  hero  '  and  not  to 
cry  because  he  was  being  left  alone  in  the  English 
hospital,  he  gulped  down  a  sob  and  trotted  away, 
clinging  to  the  apron  of  the  cheerful  Sister.  As  for 
Chedda,  he  was  too  ill  just  then  to  take  much  notice 
of  anyone. 

The  interpreter  had  made  Dobrilla  Yankovitch 
understand  that  the  other  two  children  might  have 
the  sickness  too  if  they  were  allowed  to  be  with 
Drago  and  Chedda,  and  that  was  another  considera- 
tion which  reconciled  her  to  leaving  them  behind. 
But  how  quiet  the  house  seemed  without  the  two 
littlest  ones  ! 

Fifty  times  in  the  day  Maika  would  expect  to 
feel  the  little  tugs  at  her  skirts  which  meant  that 
Chedda  had  something  very  important  to  tell  her 
in  his  baby  language,  and  Ivanka  would  look  round 
over  her  shoulder  as  if  she  expected  to  see  her 
faithful  shadow  trotting  at  her  heels.  But  they  were 
tucked  up  in  their  beds  in  the  white  hospital,  and 
every  day  Marko  or  his  mother  would  tramp  the 
miles  into  Ban]  a  for  news  of  them  ;  and  soon  the 
news  was  good,  so  that  the  smiles  came  back  to 
Marko's  solemn  brown  face,  and  the  Maika's  eyes, 
though  they  still  looked  wistful,  were  no  longer  so 
sad  now  that  she  knew  that  some  day  soon  her  little 
sons  would  come  back  to  her.  And  she  would  send 
her  choicest  gifts  to  the  big  kindly  doctor  and  to  the 
Sisters — nuts  and  apples,  kaimak  and  eggs,  anything 
that  she  could  find  to  show  her  gratitude.  Further- 
more, neither  Ivanka  nor  Marko  fell  ill,  so  that  was 
another  great  load  off  Maika's  mind.  All  the  same 
86 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

the  weeks  went  much  more  slowly  than  when  they 
were  all  together  ;  but  happily  there  was  much  to 
do  in  them,  else  they  would  have  seemed  longer 
still. 

There  were  not  many  people  in  Banja  this  winter, 
for  the  cold  had  set  in  early  and  the  frost  was  severe. 
All  the  roads  were  frozen  hard,  with  deep  ruts  in 
many  places  where  in  October  had  been  thick  mud. 
The  snow  lay  thickly  on  the  mountains,  and  twice 
the  little  house  among  the  orchards  was  almost 
hidden  by  the  great  drifts  which  came  down  upon  it. 

Then  one  of  their  best  cows  died,  so  that  altogether 
the  winter  had  not  opened  well  for  them ;  but 
Maika  looked  forward  to  the  new  year,  and  said  that 
she  complained  of  nothing  so  long  as  she  had  her 
children  with  her. 

One  morning  Ivanka  was  in  the  orchard  looking 
over  to  the  path  which  led  from  Banja,  and  suddenly, 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  called  out  to 
her  mother,  who  was  in  the  house  :  "  Oh,  Maika, 
here  are  two  of  the  English  Sisters  coming,  and  I 
believe  they  are  coming  here  to  the  house/' 

She  was  wildly  excited,  and,  followed  by  Marko, 
ran  down  the  orchard  and  on  to  the  frosty  track. 
Indeed  it  was  none  other  than  the  'Mali  Sestra/ 
and  another  with  her  whom  they  did  not  know. 
Ivanka  ran  forward  and  kissed  their  hands,  and 
Marko  smiled  shyly  as  he  said  "  Dobar  dan." 

"  I  have  come  to  see  your  mother/'  the  '  Mali 
Sestra  '  said,  for  she  had  got  along  famously  with 
her  Serbian  by  this  time.  "  Will  you  take  me  to 
her  ?  And  how  is  Ivanka  ?  "  she  continued,  smiling 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

very  sweetly  at  the  little  girl.  "  What  a  pretty 
handkerchief  you  are  wearing  to-day!  " 

Ivanka  beamed  with  pride.  This  really  was  a 
great  occasion,  and  she  led  the  way  very  happily, 
chattering  away  like  a  magpie,  and  quite  forgetting 
that  the  English  lady  could  not  understand  her  when 
she  talked  so  fast. 

Dobrilla  Yankovitch  met  them  on  the  threshold 
of  her  house.  "  Welcome,  gracious  lady,"  she  said, 
in  her  gentle  way.  "  This  is  a  happy  day  for  my 
house.  Will  you  enter  and  sit  near  my  hearth  ?  ' 

"  Willingly,"  answered  the  '  Little  Sister/  "  How 
cold  it  is,  but  what  a  beautiful  fire  !  " 

"  And  my  little  sons— are  they  better  to-day  ?  " 
inquired  Maika,  for  they  were  never  far  from  her 
thoughts. 

"  Much  better,  and  soon  they  will  be  here  with 
you.  Our  Christmas  comes  next  week,  and  yours 
is  thirteen  days  later  than  that,  for  your  calendar 
is  not  the  same  as  ours,"  said  the  Sister.  "  And 
by  the  time  your  Christmas  Day  dawns  both  your 
children  will  be  with  you  again,  and  well,  quite  well." 

"  May  the  saints  in  heaven  preserve  thee  ! "  said 
Dobrilla,  her  face  full  of  thankfulness. 

The  other  English  Sister  did  not  talk  very  much, 
for  she  could  only  speak  a  few  words  of  Serbian,  but 
she  smiled  at  Marko  and  he  entertained  her  by 
airing  the  few  English  words  he  had  picked  up  at 
the  hospital.  He  said  them  very  prettily,  in  a 
quaint,  precise  way,  and  the  two  Sisters  laughed 
very  much,  so  Marko  was  proud  of  his  efforts  to 
amuse  them. 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

In  a  few  minutes  Maika  disappeared  into  the 
inner  room,  where  to-day  the  stove  was  lit  as  it 
was  so  cold  ;  then,  returning,  she  invited  them  in 
to  sit  till  coffee  should  be  ready.  Both  the  English 
women  were  enchanted  by  the  big  loom  in  the  corner, 
on  which  a  piece  of  coarse  linen  was  stretched,  and 
nothing  would  satisfy  them  but  that  Maika  should 
sit  down  in  front  of  it  and  show  them  how  she 
wove.  Maika  was  secretly  rather  pleased  at  being 
asked  to  do  this,  so  she  took  her  place  at  the  loom 
and  began  to  work  it.  The  English  Sisters  stood 
fascinated  before  it,  watching  the  piece  of  linen  grow 
under  her  hands  ;  and  Maika,  when  she  saw  how 
interested  they  really  were,  brought  out  some  fine 
linen  that  she  had  spun  and  woven  a  little  time  ago, 
from  the  big  oak  coffer  where  the  clothes  for  festival 
days  were  kept.  So  with  one  thing  and  another 
the  time  passed  very  quickly,  and  when  they  had 
finished  examining  her  treasures  the  door  opened 
and  Ivanka  came  in  bearing  the  tray  with  the  coffee- 
cups  very  carefully  in  her  hand. 

"  Izvolite,  Sestra,"  she  said,  carrying  the  tray  first 
to  the  '  Mali  Sestra/  as  she  had  known  her  longer  ; 
then  she  stopped  before  the  other  Sister,  with  her 
pretty  voice  repeating  the  words.  Maika  then 
slipped  away  while  they  were  drinking  their  coffee 
(and  what  special  pains  Ivanka  had  taken  to  make 
that  coffee  good  !),  and  presently  came  back  with 
her  face  beaming  with  smiles  and  a  big  bowl  of  hot 
milk  in  her  hands.  Drawing  up  the  little  table, 
she  spread  a  coarse  blue  cloth  on  it,  then  brought 
in  plates  and  spoons,  and,  though  the  Sisters  pro- 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

tested,  there  came  in  now  new  hot  maize  cakes,  fresh 
from  the  oven,  creamy  kaimak,  and  little  slices  of 
dried  pork.  And  of  course  Dobrilla  would  have 
thought  it  very  rude  if  they  had  refused  to  eat  her 
food,  so  though  the  '  Little  Sister  '  and  her  friend  were 
not  a  bit  hungry  they  just  had  to  pretend  they  were 
and  eat  as  much  as  possible,  because  they  knew  that 
the  bigger  appetites  they  had  the  more  delighted 
would  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  and  her  children  be. 

That  was  a  day  not  to  be  forgotten,  and  when  at 
last  the  English  Sisters  got  up,  protesting  that  they 
had  work  to  do  and  must  hurry  back  to  the  hospital, 
they  went  out  of  the  house  leaving  real  friends 
behind  them.  All  the  three,  Maika  and  her  children, 
went  down  the  orchard  with  them  and  across  the 
maize-field,  and  then  they  said  '  Good-bye/  with 
many  invitations  to  come  again. 

"  And  soon  you  will  be  able  to  come  and  fetch 
Chedda  and  Drago,"  cried  the  '  Little  Sister/  as  she 
went  down  the  twisty  path  which  was  the  shortest 
way  to  Banja. 

"  Good-bye, . and  come  again  to  see  us,"  cried  the 
children,  as  they  stood  waving  their  hands  to  the 
Sisters. 

"  Yes,  we  will  come  again  soon/'  they  said.  "  Only 
first  you  must  bring  the  children  home  again." 

In  a  few  days,  surely  enough,  Marko  once  more 
yoked  the  oxen  and  the  kola  started  on  its  creaking 
way.  But  how  different  a  journey  was  this  one  from 
the  last !  Then  all  had  been  sadness  and  anxiety, 
but  this  day  was  full  of  happiness — even  the  sun 
seemed  to  shine  more  brightly  on  the  snow-covered 
90 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

hills  and  the  winding  paths  down  the  slopes.  When 
they  reached  the  gate  of  the  hospital  they  went  up 
to  the  white  door  which  led  on  to  the  long  balcony, 
and  there  was  Chedda  playing  with  a  ball  and  Drago 
watching  two  of  the  soldier  orderlies  who  helped  the 
Sisters  in  their  work.  What  a  cry  the  children  gave 
as  they  saw  dear  Maika  and  Marko  coming  toward 
them  !  Maika  took  them  both  up  in  her  arms  at 
once  and  hugged  them  as  if  they  had  been  little 
babies,  crushing  Chedda's  face  against  her,  and 
letting  Drago  almost  choke  her,  so  tightly  did  he 
wind  his  arms  round  her  neck. 

Out  came  Sister  Douglas  to  see  what  all  the  noise 
was  about,  and  soon  the  big  doctor  walked  along 
the  balcony  with  his  cheery  "  Kako  ste,  GospodjaP1 
Kako  ste,  Marko  ?  "  which  was  about  as  much  Serbian 
as  he  ever  learnt.  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  took  his  hand 
in  hers  as  she  came  near  him,  and  kissed  it  gratefully, 
for  she  knew  that  but  for  him  there  might  have 
been  no  little  Chedda  to  come  back  to  make  glad 
the  home  at  Novo  Selo,  and  she  thanked  him  in  her 
pretty  shy  way  until  the  big  doctor  looked  rather 
as  if  he  would  like  to  run  away.  But  he  stood  there 
and  let  Maika  have  her  say  out  almost  as  if  he 
guessed  it  was  a  comfort  to  her. 

"  And  tell  her  it's  all  right  and  we  were  very  g;lad 
to  have  the  little  chap/'  he  said,  when  at  last  he 
could  get  his  hand  free  and  stick  it  in  its  usual  place, 
his  trousers  pocket.  "  It's  your  turn  now,  Sister," 
this  with  a  delighted  grin  as  Sister  Douglas  found 
her  hand  being  kissed  by  Maika  and  Marko  in  turn. 

1  "  How  are  you,  madam  ?" 

91 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Then  Maika  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height, 
and  standing  so  she  was  nearly  as  tall  as  the  big 
doctor,  and  with  a  hand  on  her  big  boy's  shoulder 
and  an  arm  round  Drago,  she  blessed  the  hospital 
and  those  who  worked  in  it,  and  made  the  English 
people  feel  very  glad  and  yet  very  humble  at  the 
same  time. 

What  a  joyful  drive  home  that  was  in  the  frosty 
air  !  And  how  Marko  sang  and  the  children  chattered 
like  magpies  of  all  they  had  seen  and  done  in  the 
English  hospital  ! 

Never  had  the  way  from  Ban]  a  seemed  so  short. 
And  when  they  were  quite  a  distance  from  their 
own  fields,  who  should  come  running  along  the  road 
but  Ivanka,  unable  to  keep  still  in  the  house  any 
longer. 

And  what  a  shout  there  was  when  Drago  saw  her  ! 
He  almost  leapt  out  of  the  kola  in  his  excitement, 
and  Chedda  danced  up  and  down  and  clapped  his 
hands  till  his  mother  loved  him  so  much  that  she 
just  had  to  catch  him  up  in  her  arms  again  and 
almost  smother  him  with  kisses. 

"  How  happy  now  is  Maika,  the  mother  hen/' 
laughed  Marko,  "  now  that  she  has  all  her  chickens 
in  the  coop  with  her  again  !  ' 

"  It  will  be  a  good  Christmas  now,"  said  Ivanka  ; 
"  and,  Maika,  thou  wilt  ask  our  friends  to  come  too— 
it  is  a  promise,  thou  knowest." 

"  Marko  shall  ask  them,"  said  her  mother.   "  Marko 
shall  go  to-morrow  and  carry  some  new-made  kaimak 
to   the  Little  Sister,   and  then  he  shall  carry  my 
message." 
92 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

And  the  very  next  day  sure  enough  Marko  set  off 
for  Ban] a.  And  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  the 
invitation  was  refused,  for  indeed  it  was  not.  In 
fact,  another  person  was  to  be  added  to  their  party, 
for  the  big  doctor  pretended  to  be  very  much  hurt 
that  he  had  not  been  asked,  which  made  Marko 
laugh  very  much  and  show  all  his  white  teeth,  and 
so  it  was  settled  that  he  should  come  too,  and  if  the 
day  were  fine  and  sunny  he  would  take  photographs 
of  all  the  family  in  their  festive  clothes. 

The  day  before  '  Bozhitch/  which  is  the  Serbian 
name  for  Christmas,  was  a  very  busy  one  at  Novo 
Selo.  Early  in  the  morning  Marko  went  to  the  forest 
with  another  boy  from  the  village  to  cut  a  young 
oak-tree  for  the  badnjak,  which  is  the  Christmas  log. 

The  two  boys  went  before  sunrise,  and  taking 
their  oxen  and  sledge  mounted  high  into  the  woods. 
There  they  marked  the  tree  they  wanted,  which  was 
a  fine  young  oak,  and  first  crossing  themselves  three 
times,  they  threw  a  handful  of  wheat  on  the  tree, 
saying  as  they  did  this  :  "  Happy  Badnyi  Dan  to 
you." 

Then  they  cut  it  so  that  it  must  fall  toward  the 
east— for  that  ensures  a  happy  year  for  the  house- 
hold ;  and  when  it  had  fallen  they  chopped  it  into 
four  or  five  logs,  and  kept  with  great  care  the  very 
first  chips  from  the  tree. 

When  they  reached  the  house  they  left  the  logs 
standing  against  one  of  the  house  walls,  and  Maika 
came  out  and  broke  a  cake  made  of  white  wheat 
flour  against  the  biggest  log.  And  that  was  the  logs' 
Christmas  present  from  the  house  ! 

93 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

And  through  that  day,  which  we  should  call 
Christmas  Eve,  but  which  the  Serbians  christen 
'  Badnyi  Dan '  (because  in  olden  times  a  god  named 
Badnyi  used  to  be  worshipped  on  that  day),  groups 
of  children  went  from  house  to  house  singing  songs 
which  are  very,  very  old.  These  songs  are  addressed 
to  a  heathen  goddess  named  Colleda,  and  she  is 
asked  to  cause  the  cows  to  give  much  milk—  "  So 
that  we,  O  Colleda,  may  bathe  our  little  god  in  white 
milk,  O  Colleda/' 

Doubtless  the  children  thought  little  about  the 
meaning  of  the  songs,  but  it  was  the  custom,  and 
they  liked  to  go  from  house  to  house,  beginning  their 
Christmas  in  this  old,  time-honoured  way. 

Marko  could  not  give  up  the  whole  day  to  singing, 
though,  for  he  was  very  busy  preparing  one  of  the 
fattest  of  the  young  pigs  for  roasting  the  next 
morning.  The  pig  would  be  roasted  whole  over  a 
big  fire  which  would  be  made  in  the  courtyard,  and 
of  course  it  took  rather  a  lot  of  time  to  collect  logs 
and  sticks  and  lay  the  pile  ready.  Each  family 
strives  to  be  the  first  to  set  its  pig  roasting,  and  as 
soon  as  the  carcass  has  been  put  down  before  the 
blaze,  one  of  the  sons  of  the  house  rushes  out  and 
fires  off  his  pistol  to  let  the  other  houses  know,  and 
really  you  might  think  a  battle  was  going  on  as  the 
shots  echo  down  from  the  mountains  and  one  house 
answers  the  next,  till  a  distant  village  takes  it  up. 

However,  in  the  end  all  was  done  to  Marko's 
satisfaction,  and  next  he  went  in  search  of  straw, 
of  which  he  took  a  bundle,  tied  it  round  the  middle 
with  rope,  and  laid  it  down  near  the  logs.  Maika  too 

94 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

was  as  busy  as  a  bee,  brushing  her  rooms  and  polish- 
ing the  brass  trays  and  the  coffee-mill  till  all  shone 
like  gold,  pulling  out  the  best  coverlets  for  the  beds, 
and  putting  up  a  new  picture  of  their  patron  saint, 
St  John,  above  the  bracket  where  the  little  lamp  burnt 
continually.  In  the  eastern  corner  of  the  kitchen 
she  placed  a  little  wooden  box  and  filled  it  with  wheat 
which  was  sprouting,  and  placed  in  it  a  tall  candle 
of  yellow  wax.  All  day  long  she  was  busy  prepar- 
ing special  little  wheaten  cakes  in  the  shape  of  lambs, 
pigs,  and  chickens. 

Just  before  sunset  Ivanka  and  Drago  came  running 
in.  Maika  called  all  the  children  together  and  gave 
Marko,  since  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  house,  a 
pair  of  woollen  gloves.  These  he  must  put  on  in 
order  to  carry  in  the  badnjak,  which  was  the  biggest 
of  the  logs  he  had  cut,  Out  went  Marko,  and  soon 
they  heard  his  knock  at  the  door. 

'•'  Who  is  that  ?  "  called  Maika. 

"  It  is  thy  son.  Good  evening  to  all,  and  may  you 
have  a  happy  Christmas,"  said  Marko,  as  he  entered 
the  house,  bearing  the  big  log  in  his  strong  young 
arms.  Then  Maika  and  the  children  all  answered 
in  chorus:  'May  God  and  the  happy  and  holy 
Bozhitch  help  thee  !  "  and  as  he  got  inside  the  door 
Maika  threw  a  handful  of  wheat  at  him,  and  in  it 
was  a  chip  of  wood  which  he  had  cut  early  that 
morning.  It  was  considered  very  lucky  if  this  chip 
of  wood  actually  struck  the  badnjak  and  not  the 
person  who  was  carrying  it,  and  a  shout  of  joy  went 
up  from  the  children  as  they  saw  Maika  aim  true. 
Marko  laid  the  badnjak  on  the  big  stone  hearth,  and 

95 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

banked  the  other  wood  round  it  in  such  a  way  that 
it  would  burn  for  a  long  time,  and  he  left  one  end 
of  it  sticking  out  a  little  from  the  fire. 

Then  Maika  opened  the  door  and  went  out  to 
fetch  the  bundle  of  straw.  The  children  formed 
themselves  in  a  little  procession  behind  her,  and  she 
walked  round  the  room  and  then  into  the  next  one 
very  slowly,  throwing  handfuls  of  straw  on  the  floor 
and  imitating  the  hens'  '  Cluck,  cluck/  while  all  the 
children,  representing  her  little  chickens,  followed 
her,  merrily  shouting,  "  Peyooo  !  Peyooo  I  Peyooo  I  " 

When  the  floors  were  strewn  with  straw  Maika 
took  a  handful  of  walnuts  and  threw  them  into  every 
corner  of  the  room,  saying  a  little  prayer  as  she  did 
so,  for  this  custom  means  that  Christmas  is  coming 
to  all  the  four  corners  of  the  earth. 

Then  she  went  to  the  little  box  of  growing  wheat 
and  lit  the  tall  yellow  candle  and  prayed  that  in  the 
coming  year  the  fields  might  give  good  harvest  and 
the  cattle  and  sheep  might  thrive  and  rear  their 
young  in  safety,  that  the  cows  might  give  rich  milk, 
and  the  beehives  be  filled  with  honey.  And  all  the 
children  stood  with  down-bent  heads  listening  very 
quietly. 

Next  they  had  supper,  and  as  the  night  before 
Bozhitch  is  a  fast  night  they  could  not  have  any 
meat.  But  there  was  boiled  wheat  and  sugar, 
beans  in  oil,  and  potatoes,  and  as  many  little  cakes 
as  they  liked.  And  the  best  fun  of  all  was  that  they 
all  sat  on  the  floor  to  eat  it.  The  dishes  were  spread 
on  sacking  laid  over  the  straw,  for  on  this  night 
tables  and  chairs  are  never  used. 


Christmas  in  a  Serbian  Home 

GILBERT  JAMES 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

Bedtime  came  early,  for  every  one  rises  with  the 
lark  on  Christmas  Day,  and  little  Ivanka  was  carry- 
ing her  pitcher  to  the  well  before  the  sun  was  even 
peeping.  As  she  drew  her  water  she  wished  it  a 
happy  Christmas  and  threw  a  handful  of  wheat  in 
for  its  Christmas  offering. 

Maika  took  the  first  cupfuls  of  water  which  Ivanka 
had  brought  to  the  house,  for  they  are  always  kept 
to  make  the  special  Christmas  cake  called  chestnitsa, 
composed  of  boiled  wheat  pounded  and  sugar  and 
nuts.  Into  this  cake  Maika  put  a  little  silver  coin, 
and  of  course  the  person  who  got  the  coin  would  be 
considered  the  specially  lucky  one  during  the  coming 
year. 

The  next  important  thing  was  to  see  to  the  roast- 
ing of  the  pig,  and  Marko's  face  was  very  serious 
till  he  saw  his  splendid  bonfire  blazing  away  in  the 
courtyard  and  the  pig  turning  merrily  over  the  spit. 
Then  he  rushed  away  for  his  pistol  and  fired  his 
two  shots  into  the  tree-tops,  and  actually  beat  the 
whole  village  by  at  least  two  minutes  !  So  naturally 
he  was  very  proud  of  himself. 

It  was  a  cold,  frosty  morning,  but  no  fresh  snow 
had  fallen,  and  the  sun  was  already  giving  promise 
of  a  glorious  day.  Now  they  all  gathered  round  the 
hearth,  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  special  Christmas 
visitor,  for  till  he  comes  to  bring  Bozhitch  no  other 
stranger  is  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold.  They 
knew  that  he  would  come'  very  early,  as  was  the 
custom,  so  when  they  heard  a  knocking  on  the  door 
Maika  hastened  to  open  it.  In  his  hand  the  boy, 
who  was  Yanko  Stefanovitch,  a  near  neighbour, 
G  97 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

carried  wheat,  and  he  threw  a  little  handful  at  them, 
saying,  "  Christ  is  born/'  Maika  threw  a  little  at 
him,  while  the  others  all  answered  him  in  chorus, 
saying,  "  Verily  He  is  born/' 

Then  Yanko  walked  to  the  hearth  and  took  the 
shovel  in  his  hand  and  smote  the  badnjak,  which 
still  burnt  a  little,  with  such  force  that  thousands  of 
sparks  flew  upward  to  the  chimney,  saying,  "  May 
you  this  year  have  so  many  oxen,  so  many  sheep, 
so  many  pigs,  so  many  lambs,  and  so  much  good 
luck,  prosperity,  progress,  and  happiness/'  After 
that  he  kissed  the  hand  of  Dobrilla  Yankovitch, 
and  falling  on  his  knees  kissed  the  edge  of  the  log 
which  remained  unburnt  because  Marko  had  placed 
it  just  outside  the  hearth,  and  he  laid  a  coin  on  it 
as  his  gift. 

Maika  brought  forward  a  low  wooden  stool  for  him 
to  sit  upon,  but  just  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
going  to  sit  down  Marko  snatched  the  stool  away 
so  that  he  fell  on  the  floor.  We  should  think  that 
a  terribly  rude  way  to  behave  to  a  guest,  but  Yanko 
knew  what  would  happen,  for  that  was  all  part  of 
the  ceremony,  the  Serbs  believing  that  by  this  fall 
the  good  wishes  of  their  Christmas  visitor  are  firmly 
fixed  to  the  ground. 

Yanko  sat  quite  still  on  the  floor  as  if  waiting  for 
something,  and  in  a  moment  Maika  went  to  the  big 
bed  and  picked  up  a  thick  blanket,  which  she  wrapped 
round  him,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  sat  quietly 
by  the  hearth.  If  you  had  asked  him  what  this 
meant  he  would  have  told  you  that  now  he  had 
ensured  thick  cream  for  the  coming  year.  And  if 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

there  had  been  another  boy  as  old  as  Marko  in  the 
house,  Marko  and  he,  if  they  were  going  to  act  as 
shepherds  next  year,  would  have  embraced  and 
kissed  each  other  across  the  badnjak  as  it  burnt, 
for  that  would  ensure  the  attachment  of  the  sheep 
to  their  lambs.  But  as  Marko  had  not  a  brother  old 
enough  to  be  shepherd,  he  had  to  pretend  that  Yanko 
was  his  brother,  and  he  and  Marko  kissed  across 
the  leaping  flames  of  the  Christmas  logs. 

There  was  rather  an  anxious  hour  for  Marko  be- 
fore their  guests  arrived,  for  what  if  the  pig  should 
be  over-roasted  ?  Half  a  dozen  times  a  minute  he 
would  go  running  out  to  the  courtyard  to  see  if  the 
animal  needed  turning,  then  he  would  tear  down  the 
orchard  to  see  if  there  were  any  signs  of  their  guests. 
However,  just  when  he  was  beginning  to  despair 
Ivanka  called  out  to  him,  "  Here,  Marko,  I  see  them 
coming !  "  and  all  the  children  raced  as  fast  as  they 
could  go  to  greet  their  friends.  And  the  big  doctor's 
pockets  were  bulging  in  a  most  unusual  way,  which 
soon  explained  itself  in  the  shape  of  the  most  beautiful 
things  the  children  had  ever  seen. 

Can  you  imagine  what  it  must  be  like  to  have 
reached  the  age  of  ten  without  having  had  a  dolly  ? 
and  what  Ivanka  said  when  she  saw  the  one  that 
had  come  for  her,  all  dressed  by  the  '  Mali  Sestra's ' 
hands  ?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  not  say  a  word, 
for  she  was  far  too  excited.  Her  eyes  shone  like 
two  stars,  and  she  could  only  run  speechlessly  to 
Maika  and  then  back  to  kiss  the  '  Mali  Sestra's  ' 
hand.  And  not  for  one  moment  did  that  dolly  leave 
her  arms  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Marko  had  a 

99 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

wonderful  knife  with  three  blades  and  a  corkscrew, 
and  there  were  soldiers  for  Drago,  and  a  big  ball 
for  Chedda.  Moreover,  Maika  was  not  forgotten 
either,  and  I  think  she  felt  a  little  more  inclined  to 
cry  than  smile  when  she  saw  the  new  coffee  cups, 
all  gaily  painted  with  flowers,  which  were  to  take 
the  place  of  her  old  cracked  ones.  You  see,  it  did 
not  often  happen  that  Maika  got  a  present,  and  she 
looked  so  solemn  that  the  big  doctor  made  them  all 
come  out  into  the  sunshine  to  have  their  pictures 
taken  in  their  festival  clothes.  That  made  plenty 
of  laughter,  so  that  the  neighbours  even  came  to 
share  the  joke  and  say  "  Dobar  dan  "  to  the  English 
people. 

And  then  they  went  into  the  house  to  eat  their 
pig.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  it  was  roasted 
to  perfection  ;  and  to  eat  with  it  there  was  white 
wheat  en  bread,  and  little  wheat  cakes  too.  Such  a 
merry  meal  it  was,  though  only  the  '  Mali  Sestra ' 
could  act  as  interpreter  for  the  others. 

When  they  had  all  eaten  as  much  roast  pig  as  they 
possibly  could  (and  the  big  doctor  whispered  to  the 
'  Mali  Sestra  '  that  certainly  Drago  would  dream  of 
strange  things  that  night !),  and  drunk  some  more  of 
Dobrilla's  excellent  coffee,  there  was  a  little  surprise 
for  them,  for  in  came  big  Yanko  again,  and  his  sister 
Zora,  and  behind  them  Militsa  Obilitch  and  her 
husband  Mirko,  and  with  them  their  two  sons  and 
little  Kossara. 

And  no  sooner  had  Ivanka  made  fresh  coffee  for 
all  their  visitors  than  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs 
was  heard  on  the  road,  and  Marko,  running  out  to 
100 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NQ'VO  SELQ 

see  who  it  was,  came  back  with  Uncle  Ivan,  Cousin 
Petar,  and  Cousin  Andreas  in  his  grey  uniform. 
What  a  crowd  it  made !  There  were  so  many 
greetings  and  good  wishes  that  the  air  was  quite 
thick  with  them.  Every  one  was  very  gay  and  full 
of  little  jokes,  and  all  the  new-comers  were  im- 
mensely pleased  to  see  the  English  visitors. 

But  the  house  was  too  full  with  all  the  people  in 
it,  and  Cousin  Andreas  had  brought  his  fiddle  with 
him,  so  all  of  them  tripped  out  into  the  courtyard 
and  began  to  dance  the  kolo. 

Petar  Obilitch  could  play  on  the  fiddle  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  fine  to  have  still  more  music,  so 
off  he  ran  home  for  his,  and  he  and  Andreas  played 
so  that  even  a  stone  must  have  wanted  to  dance. 

At  first  only  the  younger  people  danced,  but  soon 
the  older  ones  got  the  music  into  their  toes,  and 
before  long  they  were  all  tripping  in  a  merry  ring. 
The  big  doctor  and  the  two  Sisters  said  they  could 
not  dance,  but  it  was  no  use  protesting— they  had 
to  join  hands  and  learn  the  steps  too ;  and  how 
Marko  and  Ivanka  loved  this  !  So  they  danced  until 
they  were  all  tired  ;  and  then  Cousin  Andreas  gave 
his  fiddle  to  his  father,  and  he  and  big  Yanko,  who 
were  among  the  best  dancers  in  the  country-side, 
danced  a  special  kolo  all  by  themselves,  and  the 
others  clapped  their  hands  in  time  for  them.  I  can 
tell  you  there  was  good  dancing  at  Dobrilla  Yanko- 
vitch's  that  Bozhitch.  Then  when  they  had  finished 
Maika  brought  out  red  wine  for  them  all  to  drink  ; 
after  which  they  trooped  into  the  house  again,  for 
it  was  cold  even  in  the  sunshine,  and  Petar  sang  and 

101 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Andreas  sang,  and  then  they  all  sang  together  till  the 
rafters  rang. 

But  now  the  afternoon  sun  was  getting  low,  and 
the  English  people  got  up  rather  regretfully  from 
their  seats,  for  they  knew  that  they  must  say  '  Good- 
bye/ and  that  is  a  word  no  one  likes  to  say  to  Serbia. 
All  three  were  to  go  back  to  England  very  soon,  and 
though  they  wanted  to  see  their  own  country  again, 
of  course,  yet  it  made  them  sad  to  bid  farewell  to 
these  dear  people  whom  they  had  known  and  loved. 

So  they  went  out  of  the  door  looking  rather  wist- 
fully back  at  the  little  house,  and  every  one  said  : 
"  We  will  not  say  farewell,  for  we  know  that  you 
will  come  back  to  us  some  day/' 

"  Good-bye,  you  dear  people/'  cried  the  '  Mali 
Sestra.'  "I  shall  never  forget  you.  Good-bye,  my 
Marko.  Good-bye,  Ivanka.  Good-bye,  Drago— say 
'  Good-bye  '  in  English,  little  man,  as  we  taught 
you  at  the  hospital.  And  good-bye,  baby  Chedda/' 
And  she  kissed  them  all,  even  big  Marko.  But 
when  it  was  Dobrilla's  turn,  the  poor  woman  felt 
that  she  could  not  utter  the  parting  words.  For 
she  loved  the  '  Mali  Sestra/  though  they  could  not 
talk  together  very  much. 

"  Maika/'  said  the  Sister,  moved  no  less,  "  I  won't 
say  good-bye  to  any  of  you,  only,  '  Till  I  see  you 
again/  for  you  are  all  dear  to  me,  and  I  leave  a  big 
piece  of  my  heart  behind  me  in  Novo  Selo." 

"  That  is  good/'  said  Maika.  "  I  will  not  say 
good-bye  to  my  friends.  Such  good  Sestara  and 
such  a  good  doctor  !  But  for  the  English  I  should 
be  a  mother  crying  '  Woe  is  me  !  '  for  little  Chedda. 
102 


THE  HOUSE  AT  NOVO  SELO 

When  you  come  back  we  shall  still  be  here,  I  and  the 
little  ones,  only  perhaps  they  will  have  grown  much 
bigger  before  then.  And  I  shall  always  watch  for 
you,  and  the  door  shall  never  be  latched  against 
you,  my  Mali  Sestra. 

"  I  am  poor  and  I  cannot  do  you  honour  as  it 
should  be  done  to  you,  but  I  love  you  and  I  kiss 
your  hand.  May  all  the  saints  protect  you  and 
may  your  life  be  happy/' 

"  But  I  think  /  shall  come  with  you  to  England/' 
put  in  Marko,  who  had  stolen  up  behind  his  mother 
unobserved.  "  I  can  talk  English  quite  well- 
Good  morning,  Good  evening/'  he  said  in  his  funny 
way.  "  How  are-ee  you  ?  A  pig,  a  cow,  a  sheep  " 
—for  that  was  all  Marko  really  knew  ! 

With  that  Dobrilla  Maika  was  herself  again. 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  make  this  rascal  anything  but 
a  great  naughty  baby,"  she  laughed,  and  sent  him 
to  open  the  gates  for  the  Sisters  to  pass  out. 

Past  the  orchard  only  their  waving  hands  could  be 
seen,  and  with  a  little  sigh  Maika  and  the  children 
turned  back  to  entertain  their  other  guests,  who 
stayed  till  evening  with  them.  All  the  same,  when 
they  were  alone  again  sitting  round  the  fire,  before 
they  went  to  bed,  the  Maika  singing  a  crooning  song 
to  Chedda  which  has  a  soft  little  chorus  like  this  : 

"Tamo  daleko, 
Daleko  kri  more, 
Tamo  je  selo  moye, 
Tamo  je  lyuba  moja," 

and  which  means,   "  Over  there,   far  away  beside 
the  sea,  there  is  my  village  and  there  is  my  love," 

103 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Marko  snuggled  up  against  the  soft  warmth  of  her 
skirt  as  if  he  were  only  a  little  boy  like  Drago  instead 
of  a  fine  big  lad  of  twelve.  And  when  Maika's  real 
mother  hand  came  down  on  his  shoulder  he  gave 
a  little  contented  grunt  and  he  said  : 

"  After  all,  Maika,  it  will  be  best  for  me  not  to 
go  to  England  with  the  Mali  Sestra.  For  I  do  not 
think  thou  wouldst  do  very  well  without  thy  man 
in  this  house,  and  for  a  very  certainty  Marko  who  is 
not  the  King's  son  would  be  a  sad  and  lonely  boy 
if  he  had  not  his  troublesome  Maika.  Therefore  I 
think  that  I  have  decided  to  remain  here." 

And  once  again  Dobrilla  Yankovitch  laughed  a 
little,  softly  to  herself,  for  she  was  a  wise  mother, 
as  I  have  said  before. 


104 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 


CHAPTER  I  :   ANDRIJA  LAZARA- 
VITCH 

ANDRIJA  sat  on  the  top  step  of  the  wide 
balcony  which  ran  round  the  Villa  Golub  and 
kicked  the  wooden  balustrade  with  his  new 
brown  shoes.  Every  kick  made  the  paint  fly  oft  in 
little  chips,  for  the  sun  was  so  hot  that  the  wood  had 
become  too  dry  to  hold  it ;  and  the  new  shoes  were 
becoming  a  little  stubbed  at  the  toes.  This,  however, 
did  not  matter  to  Andrija,  who  was  already  in  dis- 
grace, and  who  was  so  cross  and  unhappy  that  a  little 
more  scolding  did  not  signify. 

This  last  year  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  a  state 
of  acute  bewilderment,  and  if  you  can  imagine  how 
it  feels  after  seven  years  of  blissful  doing  as  you 
like  to  be  translated  suddenly  into  a  sphere  where  it 
appears  to  be  impossible  to  do  one  single  one  of  the 
many  delightful  things  in  life,  you  will  have  some 
idea  of  why  Andrija  was  damaging  the  property  of 
his  aunt,  Olga  Stankovitch,  and  his  uncle,  Bozhidar 
Stankovitch. 

One  of  the  greatest  puzzles  of  Andrija's  life  was 
how  Aunt  Olga  could  possibly  have  become  the  sister 
of  his  father,  Dushan  Lazaravitch,  for  there  were 
never  two  people  more  unlike  in  the  whole  world. 

Andrija  gave  the  balustrade  a  specially  vicious  kick 
just  then  as  he  heard  his  aunt's  shrill  voice  scolding 
the  girl  who  helped  her  in  that  housework  which 
seemed  so  never-ending  in  the  Villa  Golub.  Why 
were  there  such  queer  people  in  the  world  ?  and  why, 
oh,  why,  just  because  she  happened  to  be  his  father's 

107 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

only  woman  relative,  must  a  small  boy  be  obliged  to 
spend  not  only  his  schooldays,  but  his  holidays  too, 
in  a  house  he  disliked  more  and  more  every  day  of 
his  life  ? 

Andrija  looked  down  at  the  dusty  garden  and 
kicked  the  balustrade  again  till  he  hurt  his  toes ;  and 
even  that  was  a  sort  of  relief.  He  was  tired  of  every 
yard  of  it,  tired  of  the  straggling  rose-bushes  and 
weedy  sunflowers,  tired  of  the  stretch  of  road  which 
bordered  on  the  garden  and  the  villa,  tired  particu- 
larly of  the  sight  of  the  big  metal  balls,  red  and  green 
and  blue,  which  surmounted  long  rods  stuck  into  the 
ground  and  arranged  in  a  prim  row  in  front  of  the 
garden  gate. 

When  he  had  first  come  there  Andrija  had  thought 
them  rather  wonderful,  for  he  had  never  seen  any- 
thing like  them  in  his  life  before,  and  as  ornaments 
for  a  garden  they  certainly  were  rather  striking! 
But  now  he  turned  his  head  away  so  that  he  might 
not  see  the  sun  glinting  on  them,  and  looked  down 
the  road  instead  in  the  hope  of  a  little  excitement. 
Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  see — there  never  was, 
for  Posharevats  is  a  sleepy  little  town  tucked  in 
front  of  the  group  of  low  hills  that  lead  from  the 
Danube  plains  into  the  heart  of  Serbia.  Andrija's 
home  had  been  in  Belgrade  except  for  the  hottest 
months  of  the  year,  when  he  had  always  gone  with 
the  big  jolly  father  and  pretty,  gay  little  mother,  who 
had  made  such  happiness  for  him  all  those  years  that 
he  could  remember,  up  into  the  mountains,  where  it 
was  cool  and  where  he  had  been  able  to  run  wild  like 
all  the  little  peasant  boys.  Then  in  the  colder  months 
108 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

there  was  the  big  white  house  in  Belgrade,  quite 
near  the  King's  palace  and  the  beautiful  Winter 
Gardens,  the  blue  Danube  with  boats  continually 
coming  and  going,  the  soldiers  up  in  the  fort  or  drill- 
ing in  the  fields,  the  shops  and  houses,  and  all  the 
passers-by  to  watch.  He  had  had  his  pony  too,  and 
there  had  been  delightful  rides  by  the  side  of  his 
father's  big  grey  Velko  (which  means  '  swift/  and 
well  did  Velko  deserve  that  name).  Andrija  could 
never  remember  hearing  a  cross  word  or  a  shrill  voice 
in  all  those  seven  years  of  his  life,  and  the  continual 
scolding  which  went  on  in  the  Villa  Golub  was  a 
puzzle  to  him. 

Also  he  was  continually  in  disgrace !  How  it 
happened  he  never  quite  knew,  but  whereas  his  two 
little  cousins,  Ljubitsa  and  Natalija,  appeared  to  get 
through  the  days  without  calamity,  Andrija  was  in 
hot  water,  as  it  seemed,  every  hour  of  the  twenty- 
four.  The  only  conclusion  to  which  he  could  come 
was  that  girls — of  whom  he  knew  practically  nothing, 
since  he  was  an  only  child,  and  all  his  other  play- 
mates in  Belgrade  or  Banja  had  been  boys— were 
somehow  born  good,  or  born  lucky,  which  seemed  to 
work  out  the  same  as  regards  being  punished. 

Andrija's  passion  for  poking  his  small  nose  into 
every  corner  of  the  house  and  garden,  the  ease  with 
which  he  tore  his  clothes  or  made  his  white  sailor 
suits  dirty,  the  way  in  which  stray  animals  all  elected 
to  follow  him  to  the  Villa  Golub  and  once  there  de- 
clined to  leave  him— these  and  other  things  were 
among  the  reasons  for  his  being  so  continually  under 
the  shadow  of  his  aunt's  displeasure. 

109 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Yet  though  Colonel  Lazaravitch  had  been  sorely 
tempted,  when  Andrija's  mother  had  died  and  left 
them  both  so  sorrowful,  to  keep  the  boy  with  him 
and  watch  over  him  himself,  he  had  found  it  quite 
impossible  for  the  next  few  years.  He  was  a  clever 
soldier,  and  the  new  post  he  had  taken  made  it  neces- 
sary for  him  to  travel  up  and  down  the  country  in- 
specting the  cavalry  of  the  different  divisions  of  the 
army,  and  it  would  have  been  quite  out  of  the 
question  for  a  seven-year-old  boy  to  go  with  him. 
Besides,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Andrija  should  have 
a  woman's  care  for  a  year  or  two,  and  his  sister  Olga 
was  the  only  relative  left  to  him.  Andrija's  mother 
had  been  a  Frenchwoman,  and  she  had  no  relations 
in  Serbia,  so  it  really  seemed  as  though  Aunt  Olga 
was  the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty;  and  when 
Colonel  Lazaravitch  wrote  to  her  to  ask  if  she  would 
take  the  boy,  she  answered  him  promptly  that  she 
would  be  delighted  to  receive  him  into  her  family. 

When  Andrija  heard  that  he  was  to  leave  his 
father  and  that  the  white  house  in  Belgrade  was  no 
longer  to  be  his  home,  he  had  to  remind  himself  very 
hard  that  he  was  seven  or  else  I  am  afraid  he  would 
have  disgraced  himself  in  his  own  eyes  by  crying 
before  his  father.  But  he  gulped  down  a  big  sob 
and  winked  the  water  out  of  his  eyes  and  saluted  the 
tall  Colonel  before  he  said  very  gravely : 

'  Will  there  be  boys  there,  father,  and  can  I  go 
to  school  in  Posharevats  ?  Is  it  a  town  as  big  as 
Belgrade,  and  are  there  soldiers  ?  " 

'  No,  my  son,  your  cousins  are  both  girls,  unfortun- 
ately, but  you  shall  go  to  school,  and  there  you  will 
no 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

find  your  playmates.  Indeed,  my  old  friend  Pavlo 
Hitch  lives  there,  and  he  has  two  sons,  or  even  three. 
Maybe  there  is  one  your  age,  or  at  least  not  very  much 
older.  And  Aunt  Olga  will  of  a  certainty  know  many 
people  in  the  little  town,  for  she  has  lived  there  ever 
since  her  marriage.  It  is  but  a  little  town,  not  like 
our  beautiful  Belgrade,  and  there  is  no  garrison  till 
the  Qth  Regiment  comes  down  from  Valievo.  But 
there  are  fine  vineyards,  and  you  may  help  to  gather 
the  grapes,  and  you  shall  take  the  pony  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  ride  him  overhard  or  go  too  far  alone/' 

"  Have  you  seen  my  Aunt  Olga,  father  ?  Why  did 
she  never  come  to  visit  us  when  my  mother  lived  ?  " 
asked  Andrija. 

Colonel  Lazaravitch  looked  a  little  embarrassed  at 
the  question,  for  it  was  true  that  he  had  not  seen  his 
sister  for  many  years,  but  if  Andrija  had  known  that 
it  was  because  of  a  quarrel  between  her  and  his 
French  mother  he  would  have  refused  to  go  to  live 
with  Aunt  Olga,  and  his  father  thought  it  best  for 
him  to  go. 

"  Listen,  Andrija/'  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on 
the  boy's  shoulder.  '  It  will  be  for  a  few  years  only, 
till  you  are  old  enough  to  enter  the  Gymnase  at 
Belgrade,  and  you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  be 
good  and  happy  as  far  as  you  can.  Perhaps  the  little 
Francoise  and  I  have  spoilt  you  overmuch,"  speaking 
half  to  himself  as  he  looked  over  Andrija's  head  at 
the  picture  of  his  wife  that  always  hung  over  his 
writing-desk,  "  but  you  were  the  only  one  and  it  was 
for  love.  But  maybe  the  time  has  come,  Andrija,  for 
you  to  learn  that  life  is  not  all  play.  And  when  you 

in 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

are  at  school  do  not  forget  that  the  others  will  want 
their  way  in  games  and  plans.  Till  now  it  has  been 
just  Andrija  and  what  Andrija  wants  ;  now  it  must 
be  a  sharing— do  not  forget  that.  And  do  not  forget, 
my  son,  that  you  are  to  be  a  soldier  too  when  the 
time  is  ripe.  Always  tell  the  truth  and  do  not  be 
afraid  of  anything.  That  is  what  I  want  you  to 
remember  most." 

Andrija  listened  very  quietly,  for  his  father  did 
not  often  make  a  long  speech  like  this,  and  before  he 
ran  off  for  his  daily  ride  he  drew  himself  up  very 
straight  and  saluted,  not  only  his  father,  but  the 
picture  of  his  mother,  without  whom  the  house  seemed 
so  oddly  quiet  and  the  whole  world  just  a  little  less 
sunny,  even  to  a  seven-year-old  boy. 

That  was  a  whole  year  ago,  and  Andrija  had  tried 
hard  to  remember  what  his  father  had  said,  but 
there  were  times  when  it  was  very  difficult,  and  just 
now  as  he  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  veranda  he  was  a 
very  cross,  miserable  little  boy  indeed. 

The  kicks  grew  louder,  and  a  door  behind  Andrija 
opened  and  out  came  Aunt  Olga  to  see  what  all  the 
noise  was  about. 

When  she  saw  the  marks  on  the  balustrade  she 
threw  up  her  hands  in  horror. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  boy  ?  '  she  cried  in  her 
rather  shrill  voice.  "  I  declare  the  saints  are  my  wit- 
ness that  one  would  need  to  have  as  much  patience 
as  if  there  were  fifty  children.  Come  away  from  that 
veranda  at  once  and  stop  that  horrible  noise.  It  is 
surely  for  my  sins  that  ever  I  consented  to  take  my 
brother's  son  into  my  house.  Look  at  the  paint  all 
112 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

damaged/'  she  went  on,  her  voice  rising  higher  and 
higher;  "and  to  think  that  it  was  newly  painted 
only  last  summer!  Andrija  Lazaravitch,  you  are 
the  worst  boy  I  have  ever  known.  Come  here  and 
let  me  look  at  your  shoes,"  as  a  fresh  crime  caught 
her  eye. 

Andrija  went  forward  very  unwillingly  and  stood 
before  his  aunt.  Certainly  Gospodja  Stankovitch 
had  some  reason  to  be  annoyed,  for  the  shoes  were 
quite  new,  and  Andrija's  half -hour  of  bad  temper 
had  made  them  as  shabby  as  though  he  had  worn 
them  for  a  month. 

"  Why  do  you  behave  so  badly  ?  "  she  asked  him. 
"  There  is  Ljubitsa  and  the  little  Natalija— why  do 
you  not  play  quiet  games  as  they  do  instead  of 
tearing  up  and  down  like  a  mad  creature,  spoiling 
your  clothes  and  ruining  your  boots  ?  Why  must 
you  be  always  wanting  to  climb  the  trees  and  race 
the  fowls  ?  I  could  wish  there  were  no  holidays  in 
the  schools ;  they  are  too  long  by  a  month,  in  my 
opinion." 

Andrija  did  not  answer.  He  knew  it  was  not  the 
slightest  use  trying  to  explain  to  his  aunt  that  he 
was  desperately  home-sick,  not  just  for  his  father,  but 
for  all  the  familiar  things  of  his  own  home — the  high- 
walled  garden  with  its  winding  paths  where  a  boy 
could  play  all  sorts  of  games  away  from  the  eye  of 
any  '  grown-up  '—the  big  white  house  with  its  green 
shutters  where  it  was  not  forbidden  to  touch  any  of 
the  things  Andrija  found  interesting,  and  where  it  did 
not  seem  to  matter  if  one's  boots  got  a  little  dusty 
or  shabby,  since  others  appeared  in  their  place. 

H  113 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Your  father  has  spoilt  you  thoroughly,"  Olga 
Stankovitch  went  on,  "  and  if  you  had  not  come  to 
Posharevats  you  would  have  grown  up  a  useless  man, 
always  expecting  other  people  to  wait  on  you.  Yet 
all  the  thanks  I  get  for  trying  to  teach  you  better 
ways  and  to  bring  you  up  in  a  proper  manner  is 
that  you  sulk  and  scowl  and  ruin  your  new  boots  and 
spoil  my  paint.  It  is  hard  and  thankless  work  bring- 
ing up  other  people's  children.  Perhaps  if  my  brother 
had  contented  himself  with  marrying  one  of  his  own 
countrywomen  things  might  have  been  different/' 

Andrija's  eyes  flashed  and  he  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height.  "  You  shall  not  speak  about  my 
mother  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  do  not  care  what  you  say 
about  me  or  my  father ;  we  are  men  ;  but  you  shall 
not  even  say  my  mother's  name/' 

''Indeed?"  said  his  aunt.  "  And  since  when  am 
I  to  be  told  by  a  child  what  I  shall  say  and  how  I 
shall  say  it  ?  Be  very  sure,  Andrija,  that  your  Uncle 
Bozhidar  shall  hear  of  this  rudeness,  and  your  father 
too.  I  am  tired  of  this/' 

"  I  am  tired  of  this,"  said  Andrija,  "  and  I  do  not 
mind  what  you  tell  my  father.  I  wish  I  could  go  to 
him  !  'J  —and  in  spite  of  his  anger  a  big  lump  rose  up 
in  his  throat  when  he  remembered  that  hardly  a  year 
had  gone  by  and  there  was  still  a  long,  long  time  to 
wait  before  he  could  go  back  to  his  dear  Belgrade 
and  live  again  with  his  tall  father,  who  always  under- 
stood what  a  small  boy  wanted  to  do. 

Gospodja  Stankovitch  turned  away  impatiently, 
and  after  another  look  at  the  damaged  balustrade 
she  went  inside  again,  and  soon  Andrija  heard  her 
114 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

scolding  some  one  else.  Really  she  was  not  quite 
such  a  cross  person  as  it  might  appear.  She  was 
kind-hearted  enough  and  meant  to  be  good  to  her 
brother's  son,  but  she  was  hot  and  overtired  to-day, 
because  of  all  the  preparations  she  was  making  for 
the  Slava  which  was  to  be  held  that  week,  and 
before  every  Slava  the  Serbian  house  is  turned  upside 
down,  so  that  everything  may  be  beautifully  clean 
and  neat  when  the  great  day  arrives. 

The  Slava  is  a  kind  of  birthday  for  the  whole 
family,  and  it  has  its  origin  in  some  very  old  customs. 
Hundreds  of  years  ago  the  Serbs  worshipped  heathen 
gods,  but  when  they  became  Christians  they  had  to 
give  up  these  gods,  and  the  old  priests  who  first  taught 
them  allowed  them  to  have  a  '  name-day  '  to  cele- 
brate the  day  on  which  they  first  became  Christians, 
this  always  being  one  on  which  a  saint  was  worshipped. 
Thus  some  families  would  have  their  family  birth- 
day on  St  John's  Day,  some  on  St  Andrew's  Day, 
and  so  on. 

Every  year  on  this  saint's  day  the  family  held  a 
kind  of  birthday  feast,  to  which  all  their  relatives 
and  friends  were  invited,  and  to-day  the  Serbian 
families  celebrate  their  Slava,  as  it  is  called,  in  just 
the  same  way  as  their  ancestors  did  hundreds  of 
years  ago. 

So  in  the  Villa  Golub  there  were  great  preparations, 
and  ever}'  room  was  being  made  ready,  curtains  and 
cushion-covers  washed,  floors  polished,  and  silver 
cleaned,  so  that  life  was  more  than  usually  difficult 
for  Andrija  just  at  present ! 

In  a  few  minutes  Aunt  Olga  reappeared,  carrying 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

a  large  basket  in  her  hand.  "  See,  Andrija,"  she 
said,  "  here  is  ten  o'clock  and  no  marketing  done 
yet.  You  must  go  for  me  this  morning  to  the  shops 
and  bring  back  some  of  the  things.  Take  this  piece 
of  paper  with  you  and  read  it  carefully.  I  have 
written  down  all  that  is  needful,  for  I  know  only  too 
well  that  everything  that  goes  into  one  ear  comes  out 
at  the  other,  and  there  would  be  half  a  dozen  things 
missing  if  I  were  only  to  tell  you  what  you  must 
bring.  Now  take  the  basket,  and  do  not  loiter  on 
the  way  or  the  dinner  will  never  be  cooked  to-day. " 

Andrija  picked  up  the  basket  and  stumped  down 
the  steps.  He  had  not  been  doing  anything  par- 
ticularly interesting,  indeed  he  had  been  wondering 
how  these  long  holidays  were  to  be  filled  up,  but  being 
in  rather  a  sulky  mood  he  just  felt  because  Aunt  Olga 
had  asked  him  to  go  shopping  for  her  that  it  was 
the  very  last  thing  he  wanted  to  do  !  However,  he 
started  off  down  the  long  dusty  road  that  led  into 
the  town,  and  before  he  had  gone  far  he  began  to 
cheer  up. 

"  This  is  a  stupid  house/'  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
I  think  my  Aunt  Olga  is  a  stupid  woman,  the  most 
stupid  I  have  ever  seen.  But  if  I  am  cross,  why,  it 
does  not  make  things  any  the  pleasanter,  so  I  think 
I  had  better  forget  them  all  as  far  as  I  can.  Ohe  / 
Stefan/'  as  he  saw  a  little  boy  just  about  his  own 
age  coming  down  the  street,  "  where  are  you  going 
and  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

Stefan  was  carrying  a  parcel.      '  These  are  shoes 
to  be  mended,"  he  said.     "  I  am  going  to  the  shoe- 
maker's in  the  Square.     Will  you  come  too  ?  ' 
116 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

"  Yes,  I  can  come,"  said  Andrija.  "  I  like  to  see 
the  shoemaker  working.  In  Belgrade  I  never  saw 
shops  like  these— these  are  much  funnier,  if  they  are 
smaller." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  Belgrade,"  said  Stefan. 
u  I  want  to  see  the  big  ships  come  up  the  Danube. 
I  have  never  seen  a  big  one — at  least,  not  very  big, 
for  they  do  not  stop  at  Semendria,  though  you  can 
watch  them  from  the  banks." 

"  Once  I  went  to  Orsova,"  said  Andrija  proudly, 
"  and  my  father  tells  me  that  when  I  am  grown  up 
I  shall  go  to  France  and  be  perhaps  days  and  nights 
on  the  sea — not  the  river,  but  the  big  sea." 

",You  will  be  sick,"  said  Stefan.  "  My  father  has 
been  to  Egypt,  and  he  was  sick." 

"  I  was  not  sick  when  I  went  to  Orsova/'  remarked 
Andrija  ;  "  but  perhaps  the  sea  is  different." 

"  Here  is  the  shoemaker's  ;  are  you  coming  in  ?  ' 
asked  Stefan  as  they  reached  the  cobbler's  street. 
Eight  out  of  every  ten  shops  were  shoemakers',  for 
in  Serbia  some  towns  make  only  a  few  things  in  any 
number  and  do  not  trouble  much  about  others,  and 
in  Posharevats  you  can  be  sure  of  getting  good  shoes 
if  nothing  else.  Stefan  handed  his  shoes  over  the 
low  counter  to  the  shoemaker,  who  was  busy  stitch- 
ing at  a  pair  of  opanke  like  the  ones  which  were 
hanging  in  long  rows  outside  the  door. 

The  sun  was  getting  very  hot  by  that  time,  and 
the  two  boys  were  glad  of  the  excuse  to  linger  for 
a  little  in  the  cool  shop,  which  was  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  street,  watching  the  old  shoemaker,  whose 
busy  fingers  never  stopped,  though  he  was  ready 

117 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

enough  to  talk  and  explain  his  work.  The  place 
smelt  deliciously  of  leather,  for  there  were  boots 
enough  to  fit  all  the  people  of  Posharevats,  it  seemed. 
All  kinds  of  boots — top-boots  in  black  shining  leather 
such  as  Andrija's  father  wore  with  his  uniform,  high 
brown  ones,  low  brown  ones,  shoes  and  slippers, 
opanke  and  sandals — filled  every  shelf  and  were 
heaped  about  the  floor.  There  were  hides  piled  up 
in  bundles  ready  to  be  made  into  more  boots,  and 
a  little  collection  of  shoes  waiting  to  be  mended. 
Andrija  would  have  liked  to  stay  longer,  but  he 
remembered  his  marketing,  and  Stefan  and  he 
hurried  on  past  the  copper  shops,  where  the  clank 
of  hammers  beating  out  the  metal  was  heard  over 
everything,  past  the  watchmaker's,  where  the  watch- 
mender  sat  at  his  table  piled  up  with  a  bewildering 
heap  of  fascinating  wheels  and  springs,  past  the 
chemist's,  with  its  big  coloured  bottles  decorating 
the  window  and  a  smell  of  drugs  and  spices  floating 
out  of  the  door,  past  the  Grand  Hotel,  with  its 
little  tables  and -chairs  standing  out  on  the  terrace 
between  the  tubs  of  myrtle,  and  through  the  little 
Park,  with  its  statues  and  formal  paths,  to  the 
Market  Square,  which  stood  before  the  white-walled 
Court  House. 

All  round  three  sides  of  the  square  parade-ground 
stood  the  market  booths,  gay  with  strings  of  the  red 
paprika^  and  heaped-up  glossy  tomatoes,  the  vivid 
green  of  vegetables  and  the  bright  yellow  pumpkins 
making  brilliant  contrasting  patches  of  colour. 
Andrija  liked  shopping  well  enough  if  the  basket 

1  Red  pepper. 

118 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

did  not  grow  too  heavy,  and  he  pulled  out  his  little 
slip  of  paper  before  the  stalls  where  he  thoughtfthe 
food  looked  most  tempting. 

"  I  want  all  the  things  that  are  written   here/' 

he  explained  to  the  stout  old  man  who  sat  reading 

his  newspaper  under  the  shelter  of  his  canvas  awning. 

'  There  will  be  leeks  and  onions,  paprika  and  cherries, 

tomatoes  and  beans,  I  think/' 

'  I  have  no  onions  to-day/'  said  the  old  man, 
"  but  everything  else  I  can  give  you.  Have  you  a 
basket  to  put  them  in  ?  "  and  he  proceeded  to  get 
out  the  vegetables  and  weigh  them  on  his  shining 
scales,  while  Andrija  handed  the  basket  over  the 
low  counter  and  beguiled  the  time  of  waiting  by  a 
hopping  match  with  Stefan  from  one  side  of  the 
street  to  the  other.  They  narrowly  escaped  being 
knocked  down  by  a  fiery  Arab  horse  ridden  by  a 
shouting  soldier,  avoided  a  bullock-cart  drawn  by 
slow-moving  oxen,  and  cannoned  into  a  stout  old 
lady  who  was  trailing  her  black  silk  skirt  and  fur- 
edged  mantle  through  the  dusty  streets,  and  who, 
as  Andrija  recollected  with  a  little  grimace,  was  one 
of  his  aunt's  acquaintances  and  would  certainly  tell 
her  that  her  nephew  was  romping  in  the  street  instead 
of  walking  sedately  along  like  a  properly  behaved 
schoolboy. 

However,  she  contented  herself  with  a  very  short 
reproof,  and  Andrija,  who  expected  worse,  was  happy 
to  escape  so  lightly  and  went  back  for  his  basket, 
handing  the  money  which  his  aunt  had  given  him 
with  a  very  grown-up  air  to  the  shopkeeper,  who  was 
a  good-natured  old  fellow  and  presented  each  of  the 

119 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

boys  with  a  big  handful  of  cherries,  "  to  take  the 
taste  of  the  dusty  roads  'out  of  their  mouths/'  he 
said.  And  the  dust  was  indeed  no  laughing  matter  ! 
The  haze  that  had  hung  over  the  town  earlier  in  the 
morning  had  vanished  before  the  powerful  rays  of 
the  midday  sun,  which  beat  down  on  the  white 
houses,  the  white  roads,  and  the  dusty  trees  till  the 
glare  hurt  the  eyes  and  the  heat  parched  the  throats 
of  the  people  who  thronged  the  streets.  Another 
hour  or  two  and  all  the  roads  would  be  empty,  the 
bullock-carts  pulled  up  under  the  trees  for  their 
drivers  to  enjoy  their  midday  rest,  the  hurrying 
passers-by  inside  their  houses  or  behind  the  closed 
shutters  of  their  shops.  All  the  bustle  and  anima- 
tion of  the  little  town  would  have  melted  under  the 
glare  of  that  scorching  sun,  and  for  the  space  of  two 
or  three  hours  Posharevats  would  lie  like  an  en- 
chanted town,  till  with  the  springing  up  of  the  even- 
ing breeze  the  spell  would  be  broken  and  the  people 
would  come  out  again  to  enjoy  the  evening  coolness, 
to  drink  their  cups  of  coffee  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Grand  Hotel  and  stroll  in  the  Park  and  meet  their 
friends,  and  to  read  their  newspapers  before  some 
cafe  while  the  evening  meal  was  being  prepared. 

Andrija  and  Stefan  walked  slowly  along  the 
streets,  trying  to  find  the  coolest  spot  they  could 
and  talking  together  about  a  hundred  and  one  things, 
quite  forgetting,  of  course,  that  the  time  was  going 
and  that  they  would  certainly  be  very  late,  till  they 
reached  the  corner  of  the  lane  which  led  to  the 
Villa  Natalia,  where  Stefan  lived. 

"  Good-bye,  Andrija/'  he  said,   "  I  must  hurry. 

120 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

It  is  our  Slava  to-day,  and  my  brother  is  coming 
home  on  leave  specially  for  it." 

"  It  is  the  Slava  at  Villa  Golub  on  Thursday/' 
answered  Andrija.  "  At  my  house  and  when  the 
regiment  has  Slava  it  is  nice  and  there  are  very  good 
cakes,  but  here  it  is  all  bustle  and  I  do  not  like  it 
at  all.  When  will  you  come  with  me  to  see  my  dog  ? 
I  have  him  in  a  little  shed  near  Uncle  Bozhidar's 
office,  because  my  aunt  will  not  have  him  in  the 
house— she  does  not  like  dogs,  though  Knez  Lazar  is 
a  beauty  and  many  people  tried  to  make  my  father 
sell  him  to  them,  but  he  never  would  because  Lazar 
is  my  dog  and  he  wrould  not  hunt  for  anyone  else. 
He  is  so  quick,  he  can  catch  a  hare,  I  think." 

"  To-morrow,  perhaps/'  called  Stefan  as  he  went 
down  the  lane.  "  But  you  had  better  hurry  or 
Gospodja  Stankovitch  will  be  cross,  and  then  perhaps 
she  will  not  let  you  come  out." 

Andrija  thought  this  extremely  likely,  so  he 
hastened  his  steps,  but  though  he  hurried  as  fast 
as  he  could  with  the  heavy  basket  of  vegetables  he 
was  really  rather  late  in  getting  back  to  the  Villa 
Golub,  so  late  that  his  uncle  had  to  do  without  his 
favourite  leek  soup  for  dinner  because  there  was  no 
time  to  make  it.  So  of  course  that  meant  another 
scolding  for  Andrija,  and  this  time  I  am  afraid  he 
rather  deserved  it ! 

Uncle  Bozhidar  came  in  soon  from  his  office  and 
hung  up  his  hat  in  the  little  passage-way,  and  when 
he  came  in  the  scolding  stopped  for  a  time.  He  was 
a  very  quiet  man,  short  and  rather  fat,  but  Andrija 
liked  him  because  he  could  sing  so  wonderfully 

121 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

well;  and  though  he  did  not  sing  at  home  much, 
still  when  he  did  it  was  so  beautiful  that  Andrija 
felt  that  he  would  do  anything  to  please  him.  He 
was  very  little  in  the  Villa  Golub,  for  he  spent  most 
of  the  day  in  his  office  in  the  Court  House,  where  he 
transacted  all  the  business  of  a  busy  lawyer,  and  in 
the  evenings  he  nearly  always  went  to  drink  his 
coffee  and  play  dominoes  in  one  or  other  of  the  cafes, 
where  he  met  his  friends  and  talked  politics  or  read 
the  papers.  Not  many  guests  came  to  the  Villa 
Golub  ;  only  sometimes  in  the  afternoons  the  friends 
of  Aunt  Olga  would  come  to  drink  coffee  and  talk 
to  her  about  their  houses  or  their  children. 

Uncle  Bozhidar  was  very  fond  of  his  two  little 
girls,  and  liked  to  take  them  with  him  in  the  early 
evening  to  walk  in  the  Park,  and  Andrija  had  to  go 
too,  though  he  thought  it  very  dull,  just  going  round 
and  round  the  paths,  and  could  not  imagine  why 
Ljubitsa  and  Natalija  found  so  much  pleasure  in 
walking  sedately  on  each  side  of  their  father,  holding 
his  hand  and  listening  to  the  conversation  of  the 
grown-up  people. 

Uncle  Bozhidar  was  rather  displeased  that  there 
was  no  leek  soup  for  dinner,  but  he  did  not  say 
very  much,  and  this  rather  annoyed  his  wife. 

"  It  appears  to  me/'  she  said  to  him,  "  that  you 
think  more  of  your  nephew  by  marriage  than  you 
do  of  your  own  children.  It  is  not  often  that  my 
children  are  careless  or  thoughtless,  but  on  the  day 
when  Ljubitsa  is  forgetful  or  Natalija  is  naughty  I 
hear  far  more  about  it  than  when  Andrija  is  in 
question/' 
122 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

"He  is  only  eight  years  old,  Olga,  and  we  cannot 
expect  the  child  to  fall  into  our  methodical  ways 
all  at  once,"  was  the  reply  which  Gospodin  Stanko- 
vitch  made  as  he  poured  a  plentiful  supply  of  oil 
over  his  beans. 

u  And  how  old  is  Natalija,  pray  ?  "  said  his  wife. 
"  Not  a  day  older  than  six,  and  as  wise  a  little  body 
as  you  could  find  all  up  and  down  Posharevats. 
And  if  Ljubitsa  has  only  ten  years  behind  her  she  is 
going  to  be  a  treasure  to  me  in  a  very  little  longer/' 

"  They  are  good  children/'  said  their  father, 
smiling  down  at  them,  "  but  Andrija  will  learn  to  be 
as  helpful  in  a  little  while,  will  he  not  ?  "  turning  to 
the  rather  sulky  little  boy  who  sat  at  the  dinner- 
table  in  silence.  At  home  Andrija  had  been  the 
biggest  chatterbox  that  could  be  imagined,  and 
when  he  was  alone  with  his  uncle  he  could  find 
plenty  to  say  too,  but  in  his  aunt's  presence  he  was 
like  a  little  fish. 

"  Since  everything  I  say  makes  her  angry/'  he 
used  to  say  to  himself,  "  I  will  not  talk  at  all,  and 
then  perhaps  she  will  scold  me  less.  She  is  so  fat 
that  I  should  have  thought  she  would  be  good- 
tempered,  like  old  Dimitri,  our  coachman  in  Belgrade. 
Then  my  mother  said  that  people  who  laughed 
always  grew  fat,  and  she  always  knew  why  things 
were  so,  but  perhaps  she  was  just  wrong  about  my 
aunt." 

"  Andrija,"  said  his  uncle,  when  the  meal  was 
over,  "  you  are  to  be  ready  at  five  o'clock  to  go  to 
the  Park  with  me.  It  will  be  a  little  treat  for  you  ; 
and  if  you  are  very  good  you  shall  have  lemonade 

123 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

with  me  afterward— so  shall  your  cousins — eh, 
Ljubitsa— eh,  Natalija  mine  ?  '  pulling  their  tight 
plaits  as  he  passed  their  chairs. 

"  Andrija  does  not  like  to  walk  in  the  Park," 
said  Natalija,  who  was  rather  fond  of  making  mischief 
in  a  quiet  way.  "  He  would  much  rather  run  with 
the  schoolboys  in  the  streets.  He  says  the  Park 
is  dull." 

Andrija  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  brown  hair,  for 
he  knew  his  uncle  was  trying  to  be  specially  kind 
to  him,  and  he  answered  sturdily  : 

"  I  shall  like  to  go  very  much  with  my  Uncle 
Bozhidar  to-day.  Thank  you,  Uncle,"  and  he 
saluted  him  as  he  used  to  salute  his  father,  a  little 
politeness  which  always  made  his  cousins  giggle,  but 
which  Uncle  Bozhidar  liked. 

"  That  is  right,"  he  answered  kindly.  "  I  shall 
come  back  for  you  at  five  o'clock,  so  be  ready  and  do 
not  keep  me  waiting,  children." 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  passed  as  usual.  Aunt 
Olga  sat  embroidering  in  her  sitting-room,  a  room 
Andrija  detested  because  he  was  perpetually  being 
warned  not  to  touch  this  or  that  and  not  to  walk 
here  or  there.  It  had  a  shining  floor  and  there  were 
some  fine  rugs  hung  along  the  wall,  and  the  big 
divans  were  piled  up  with  embroidered  cushions,  but 
it  always  looked  too  spick  and  span  for  anyone  to 
dare  to  sit  down  in,  and  the  children,  even  prim  little 
Ljubitsa  and  Natalija,  always  avoided  it  if  they 
possibly  could.  In  spite  of  the  heat  two  friends  of 
Gospodja  Stankovitch  drove  in  to  see  her,  and  there 
was  the  usual  bustle  to  do  them  honour.  The  three 
124 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

ladies  sat  in  a  circle,  and  the  big  silver  tray  came  in 
bearing  its  load  of  tumblers  filled  with  clear  cold 
water  and  a  little  dish  of  sladka,  a  kind  of  sweet  syrup 
poured  over  boiled  cherries  or  plums. 

Ljubitsa  was  summoned  to  carry  the  tray  to  her 
mother's  guests,  which  she  did  rather  prettily,  saying 
"  Izvolite  "  to  each  as  she  held  it  before  them,  so 
that  each  could  dip  a  silver  spoon  into  the  sladka 
and  sip  the  ice-cold  water.  After  that  coffee  was 
handed  round,  and  little  cakes,  for  Gospodja  Stanko- 
vitch  was  a  noted  housewife,  and  Natalija  and 
Andrija  sent  for,  much  to  Andrija's  disgust.  He 
hated  the  way  visitors  always  talked  about  him, 
"  just  as  though  I  wasn't  there  at  all,"  as  he  said 
to  his  uncle  once,  and  the  many  questions  they  asked 
him  about  his  home  and  his  father,  the  answering 
of  which  always  made  him  feel  very  home-sick  and 
lonely.  And  of  course  it  was  just  the  same  this 
afternoon. 

Gospodja  Shapinats  was  just  praising  her  hostess's 
sladka  as  Andrija  came  into  the  room.  "  No  one 
in  Posharevats  can  make  it  so  well,"  she  was  saying, 
"  particularly  your  cherry  sladka.  Have  you  any 
special  method  of  preparing  the  cherries,  dear  Olga  ?  ' 

Gospodja  Stankovitch  smiled,  very  well  pleased 
by  this  remark.  "  No,  I  think  it  is  only  that  I  take 
particular  care  over  the  boiling,  Gospodja  Shapinats/' 
she  replied.  "  But  I  take  great  pains  over  my 
housekeeping — indeed,  I  think  that  should  be  the 
case  everywhere.  Far  too  many  of  our  girls  nowa- 
days look  down  on  housekeeping  and  the  good  ways 
of  old,  and  that  is  why  I  think  our  men  are  marrying 

125 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

foreigners,  though  I  could  never  see  any  benefit  in 
that." 

Here  she  checked  herself  as  Andrija  walked  up  the 
room  and  greeted  the  two  ladies,  Natalija  following 
closely  behind  him. 

"  And  is  this  your  nephew,  Gospodja  ?  "  inquired 
the  other  visitor,  who  had  been  away  from  Poshare- 
vats  some  time.  "  My  husband  has  spoken  to  me 
often  of  your  brother,  Colonel  Lazaravitch.  He 
says  what  a  fine  officer  he  is,  and  how  much  good 
work  he  has  done."  Andrija  smiled  at  her  in  a  very 
friendly  way— here  was  some  one  at  least  who  knew 
something  about  his  father. 

"  Yes,  this  is  Andrija,  his  only  son/'  answered 
Aunt  Olga.  "  He  is  tall  for  his  age,  as  you  see,  but 
not  so  forward  as  my  Ljubitsa  was.  Just  imagine, 
until  he  came  to  us  he  had  never  been  inside  a  school 
at  all.  I  do  not  know  what  my  brother  was  thinking 
of.  Now  he  has  everything  to  learn." 

Gospodja  Maryanovitch  was  a  younger  woman 
than  either  of  the  other  two,  with  a  small  son  of  her 
own,  and  she  felt  sorry  for  Andrija,  who  had  grown 
very  red  while  his  aunt  was  thus  speaking. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said  kindly,  but  not  looking  at 
the  boy's  red,  angry  face ;  "  I  dare  say  Andrija  will 
have  learnt  a  great  many  other  things  that  books 
cannot  give  him.  My  Djura  is  always  playing  at 
soldiers,  though  he  is  only  four.  You  must  come 
and  teach  him  how  to  drill  properly,  Andrija.  He 
would  like  that.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please,  Gospodja,"  said  Andrija,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  he  went  and  stood  by  her  chair  well  away 
126 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

from  his  aunt,  who  was  saying  something  behind  her 
fan — Andrija  felt  sure  she  was  recounting  some  of 
his  misdeeds  to  the  other  visitor. 

"Have  you  seen  my  father?'  he  asked.  "I 
have  not  seen  him  for  half  a  year,  only  once  since  I 
came  to  this  town.  I  want  to  see  him— I  want  to 
go  back  to  my  home." 

Gospodja  Maryanovitch  gave  his  arm  a  little  pat, 
and  Andrija  did  not,  for  a  wonder,  mind  this,  though 
usually  he  detested  being  petted  by  strangers.  But 
she  seemed  kind  and  as  if  she  understood  boys. 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  him/'  she  said,  smiling, 
r'  but  my  husband  served  under  him  in  the  last 
Turkish  war.  You  know  he  is  a  Reserve  officer, 
a  captain  second  class,  and  that  is  how  he  met  your 
father.  You  must  come  to  my  house — with  your 
cousins,"  she  added  hastily,  turning  to  the  two  little 
girls,  who  were  listening  to  her  conversation,  "  and 
my  husband  shall  tell  you  how  he  came  to  know 
Colonel  Lazaravitch,  and  how  they  swam  the  river 
with  the  colours  of  the  regiment — it  is  a  fine  story." 

Andrija's  eyes  sparkled.  He  knew  the  story  quite 
well — had  known  since  he  was  quite  a  little  boy 
how  his  father  had  won  that  splendid  sword,  the  one 
he  only  wore  for  reviews  and  on  the  King's  birthday, 
or  the  Slava  day  of  the  regiment ;  but  he  was  not 
going  to  be  impolite  enough  to  tell  Gospodja  Maryano- 
vitch that  he  knew  all  about  it— she  was  a  kind  lady 
and  he  would  go  to  her  house.  He  turned  to  his 
aunt,  who  sat  watching  him  with  a  slight  frown. 

'  May  I  go  to-morrow  and  play  with  little  Djura  ?  ' 
he  asked,  rather  fearing  a  refusal. 

127 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  If  Gospodja  Maryanovitch  does  not  mind  a 
noisy,  romping  boy  spoiling  her  carpets,  you  may 
go,"  she  answered  ungraciously.  "It  is  very  kind 
of  you,  Gospodja,  for  really  I  am  worn  out  with  the 
noise  the  three  of  them  make  together.  Ljubitsa 
and  Natalija  were  quiet  enough  till  their  cousin 
came,  but  now  I  think  they  are  growing  just  as  noisy 
as  he  is." 

Gospodja  Maryanovitch  laughed  as  she  got  up  to 
go.  "  Oh,  I  do  not  mind  noise/'  she  said.  "  The 
garden  is  big  enough,  and  Djura  makes  noise 
sufficient  for  ten — three  more  will  not  make  much 
difference.  And  they  can  come  in  the  morning  and 
stop  all  the  day,  if  you  will  let  them.  It  is  too  hot 
now  for  children  to  walk  through  the  streets  in  the 
afternoon,  and  they  can  go  home  when  the  sun  has 
gone  down  a  little.  Good-bye,  Ljubitsa.  Good- 
bye, Natalija,"  she  said.  "  You  must  both  come, 
and  we  will  see  what  we  can  find  to  amuse  you. 
Good-bye,  little  Andrija,"  she  went  on,  "and  I  shall 
tell  Djura  that  you  are  going  to  teach  him  to  drill." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  will,"  said  Andrija,  almost  stam- 
mering with  excitement,  "  and  I  will  teach  him  all, 
all.  I  know  all  the  words  of  command—it  will  be 
just  like  Belgrade  when  the  sergeant-major  taught 
me  when  I  was  quite  a  little  boy.  Now,  of  course,  I 
am  eight,  so  it  is  my  turn  to  teach  Djura." 

This  incident  made  the  afternoon  quite  pleasant 
for  Andrija,  and  he  had  so  recovered  his  good  temper 
as  a  result  of  Gospodja  Maryanovitch's  kind  words 
that  he  made  no  grumbling  when  his  aunt  insisted 
on  his  being  dressed  for  his  walk  with  his  uncle  in 
128 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

the  dark  blue  suit  which  was  so  much  hotter  than  the 
cool  white  sailor  ones  which  his  mother  had  liked  him 
to  wear,  but  which  Aunt  Olga  condemned  as  getting 
dirty  too  quickly  for  daily  wear. 

At  five  o'clock  Uncle  Bozhidar  came  to  fetch  them, 
and  the  little  party  started  for  the  Park,  Aunt  Olga 
in  her  grey  silk  dress  and  best  black  hat  with  the 
nodding  feathers,  the  two  little  girls  in  starched  white 
muslin,  and  Andrija,  very  hot  and  uncomfortable,  in 
his  blue  serge.  All  the  streets  were  full  of  family 
parties  making  for  the  same  spot— papas  taking  a 
little  exercise  before  they  settled  down  for  their 
evening's  debate  or  game  of  dominoes,  mammas  com- 
paring notes  as  to  their  dresses  and  children,  young 
officers  in  smart  white  tunics  and  lemon  kid  gloves, 
pretty  girls  in  dainty  muslins,  and  children  walking 
sedately  on  the  paths  holding  their  parents'  hands, 
all  looking  very  good  and  proper. 

The  first  time  Andrija  had  been  taken  for  one  of 
these  evening  promenades  he  had  behaved  rather 
badly,  running  on  the  grass  instead  of  keeping  to  the 
sanded  paths,  chasing  a  puppy  which  had  somehow 
found  its  way  into  the  Park,  and  shouting  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  whenever  he  saw  a  specially  pretty 
flower-bed.  But  by  this  time  he  had  learned,  after 
many  chastening  experiences,  that  the  proper  way 
to  behave  on  these  occasions  was  to  copy  exactly 
Natalija  and  Ljubitsa,  those  model  children  who  were 
such  a  nightmare  to  their  more  energetic  cousin. 

Round  and  round  the  paths  went  the  family  party, 

meeting  friends  here  and  there  with  whom  it  was 

necessary  to  stop  and  talk  a  little,  while  the  children 

I  129 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

stood  dismally  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other. 
Every  one  seemed  very  amiable,  and  there  were  no 
wild  pranks  on  the  part  of  Andrija,  who  was  thinking 
about  the  Maryanovitch  visit  which  he  was  to  make. 
Uncle  Bozhidar  took  them  all  across  to  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  they  sat  round  one  of  the  little  tables 
among  other  groups  of  people,  and  the  elder  ones 
drank  coffee  and  the  children  had  lemonade.  Aunt 
Olga  was  in  an  unusually  good  temper,  and  Andrija 
was  just  thinking  that  it  was  at  least  half  a  day  since 
he  had  been  scolded  at  all  seriously,  when  a  tall 
young  officer  suddenly  appeared  round  the  corner  of 
the  hotel  and  made  his  way  on  to  the  terrace. 

At  the  sight  of  him  Andrija's  heart  gave  a  thud 
and  he  felt  such  a  pang  of  home-sickness  that,  for- 
getting everything  and  every  one,  he  jumped  up  and 
made  one  wild  leap  for  the  new-comer,  upsetting  his 
chair,  which  fell  with  a  terrific  clatter,  and  knocking 
over  glass  and  spoon. 

"  Lieutenant  Pepitch  !  "  he  cried,  flinging  his  arms 
round  the  young  officer's  neck.  "  My  Pepitch  !  I 
thought  I  should  never  see  you  again,  nor  anybody 
I  knew.  Come,  come  to  talk  to  us — do  not  go  away, 
or  I  shall  die  of  loneliness.  Do  come  and  have  your 
coffee  at  my  uncle's  table,  so  that  I  can  talk  to  you, 
so  that  you  can  tell  me  everything  !  I  want  to  go 
home.  I  am  so  home-sick,  Pepitch  !  " 

The  young  lieutenant  looked  a  little  embarrassed, 
for  Andrija's  welcome  had  been,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  rather  public,  and  the  noise  he  had  made  when  he 
upset  his  chair  had  drawn  every  one's  attention  to 
the  two,  but  he  patted  the  boy's  shoulder  very  kindly 
130 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

as  he  put  him  down  and  his  smile  was  just  as  big  and 
jolly  as  it  used  to  be  in  the  days  when  he  had  been 
almost  a  daily  visitor  to  the  Belgrade  home  of  the 
Lazaravitches. 

'  Why,  Andrija,  this  is  a  surprise/'  he  said  gaily. 
"And  you  are  up  to  my  elbow  now,  I  do  declare  ! 
How  is  Knez  Lazar  ?  And  is  he  with  you  ?  Yes,  I 
will  come,  but  remember  I  do  not  know  your  uncle 
and  aunt ;  I  shall  have  to  introduce  myself  to  them, 
and  then  we  will  see."  And  he  moved  toward  the 
table,  where  a  very  angry  Aunt  Olga  with  a  flushed 
face  was  talking  indignantly  to  her  husband,  who  was 
also  rather  annoyed  by  the  boy's  impetuous  behaviour. 

Uncle  Bozhidar  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  You  are 
acquainted  with  my  nephew,  I  see,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
Bozhidar  Stankovitch,  at  your  service,  and  my  wife, 
Olga  Stankovitch,  who  is  this  noisy  young  man's 
aunt." 

Lieutenant  Pepitch  saluted,  clicking  his  heels 
together,  which  made  his  spurs  tinkle  in  the  way 
Andrija  loved.  '  I  am  Pepitch,"  he  said,  "  lieutenant 
of  cavalry,  but  now  with  the  air  service,  and 
Colonel  Lazaravitch  does  me  the  honour  to  give  me 
his  friendship.  I  have  played  with  Andrija  since  he 
could  toddle  holding  to  my  finger,  so  I  think  you  will 
forgive  his  desertion  of  you  when  he  saw  me."  As 
he  spoke  he  held  Andrija  by  the  hand,  for  the  boy 
was  trembling  with  excitement  and  clung  to  him  as 
if  he  represented  his  only  link  with  his  old  home. 
They  all  sat  down  together,  and  Lieutenant  Pepitch 
talked  pleasantly  with  the  two  elder  people  and 
smiled  at  the  children,  for  he  saw  well  enough  that 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Andrija  was  in  dire  disgrace,  and  he  was  sorry  for  the 
little  boy,  with  whom  he  had  had  such  jolly  romps 
in  white  Belgrade,  and  whom  he  had  helped  to  console 
when  the  pretty  mother  left  him.  Andrija  leaned 
against  his  arm  and  touched  his  epaulette  with  almost 
reverent  fingers.  In  truth  he  was  sick  for  the  familiar 
grey  uniforms,  the  jingling  spurs,  the  coming  and 
going  of  a  big  garrison  town,  the  cries  of  command, 
the  drills  and  exercising,  with  which  he  had  been 
familiar  from  babyhood,  for  Colonel  Lazaravitch 
was  one  of  those  Serbian  officers  who  have  a  passion- 
ate love  for  their  profession,  and  he  wished  his  only 
son  to  be  brought  up  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 
atmosphere  that  he  himself  loved  so  much. 

To  Andrija  the  quiet  life  of  the  Villa  Golub,  the 
dull  townspeople,  the  domestic  chatter,  the  dis- 
cussions over  school  life,  the  turmoil  of  preparation 
for  some  little  festival — all  were  foreign  to  him,  and 
he  longed  for  something  that  would  put  him  once 
again  among  those  familiar  scenes.  Not  that  Andrija 
could  put  all  this  into  words,  for  he  was  too  young, 
but  he  felt  somehow  in  Posharevats  as  though  he 
were  in  a  foreign  country  thousands  of  miles  from 
his  own  people,  so  alien  in  every  way  were  his 
surroundings. 

Pepitch  was  stationed  in  Valievo,  a  town  many 
kilometres  from  Posharevats,  where  a  new  aerodrome 
was  being  built,  and  he  had  only  come  to  Posharevats 
on  leave  to  visit  some  relations.  He  was  dining  at 
the  Grand  Hotel  with  some  other  friends,  but  he  good- 
naturedly  put  off  his  appointment  for  half  an  hour 
to  make  Andrija  happy,  and  when  at  last  he  was 
132 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

obliged  to  say  good  night  to  the  little  boy  he  left  him 
consoled  because  he  had  promised  to  come  to  the 
Stankovitch  Slav  a  in  two  days'  time,  and  Andrija 
would  see  him  again  before  he  went  away. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  Villa  Golub  Aunt  Olga 
scolded,  and  Uncle  Bozhidar  reproved  Andrija  for 
his  terrible  behaviour,  but  he  was  oblivious  to  every- 
thing save  the  fact  that  he  was  clutching  in  his  hot 
little  hand  the  precious  star  from  Pepitch's  epaulette 
which  he  had  pulled  off  hastily  as  a  parting  present 
to  the  boy,  and  in  his  mind  was  the  memory  of  the 
promise  the  young  aviator  had  made  to  him.  And, 
moreover,  in  the  back  of  Andrija's  brain  was  already 
the  beginning  of  a  Great  Plan,  so  that  he  went  to 
sleep  that  night  happier,  in  spite  of  being  in  deeper 
disgrace  than  usual,  than  he  had  been  ever  since  he 
came  to  Posharevats. 


133 


CHAPTER  II  :  THE  SLAVA 

ANDRIJA,  Andrija  !  Come  along  !  "  cried 
Gospodja  Stankovitch  on  the  morning  of 
the  Slav  a  day.  "  The  priest  has  come  and 
you  will  be  late." 

Andrija  was  in  the  garden  feeding  the  pigeons,  but 
he  ran  in  when  he  heard  his  aunt's  voice  and  hastened 
to  wash  his  hands  and  brush  his  hair,  casting  a  hasty 
glance  down  to  see  if  by  an  unlucky  chance  he  had 
got  any  dust  or  dirt  on  his  clean  white  shirt.  One 
of  the  pigeons  had  perched  on  his  shoulder  and  left 
the  dirty  marks  of  its  little  feet,  but  that  was  about 
the  extent  of  the  damage,  and  Andrija  felt  that  he 
was  in  luck  for  once  ! 

All  the  Stankovitch  family  was  assembled  in  the 
largest  sitting-room,  which,  like  every  other  place 
in  the  house,  was  spotlessly  clean.  The  floor  shone 
like  glass,  the  furniture  was  polished  till  you  could 
see  your  face  in  it,  and  all  the  cushions  were  newly 
adorned  with  beautifully  embroidered  covers.  The 
silver  lamp  under  the  sacred  picture  of  St  Ivan,  the 
family  patron  saint  in  whose  honour  the  Slava  was 
being  held,  was  filled  with  perfumed  oil  and  burned 
brightly.  On  the  large  round  table  which  stood 
directly  under  this  ikon,  as  the  Serbians  call  their 
sacred  pictures,  stood  a  big  flat  cake,  the  special 
Slava  cake,  made  of  wheaten  flour  and  decorated 
with  special  figures  stamped  with  metal  dies.  On 
each  side  of  the  cake  were  lighted  candles,  and  behind 
it  stood  a  little  glass  jar  filled  with  sprouting  wheat, 
in  the  middle  of  which  burnt  another  tall  wax  candle. 

134 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Grouped  round  were  photographs  of  all  the  absent 
members  of  the  Stankovitch  family,  those  who  could 
not  be  present  at  this  f  tie  day  of  their  house— the  day 
when  every  Serb  tries  to  be  present  in  his  home  to 
join  in  the  rejoicings,  if  he  possibly  can  do  so. 

As  Andrija  came  into  the  room  the  priest  was  just 
preparing  to  begin  the  little  service,  but  he  waited  for 
the  boy,  who  came  up  to  kiss  his  hand  as  he  had  been 
taught  to  do.  Then  he  took  in  his  hand  a  large  brush 
made  of  dried  herbs,  and  dipped  it  into  a  basin  of  holy 
water,  then  flicked  drops  of  the  water  into  every 
corner  of  the  room,  saying  a  little  prayer  as  he  did  so. 
When  he  had  thus  blessed  the  house  for  another 
year  till  the  new  Slava  day  should  come  round,  he 
took  up  his  book  and  read  the  service,  all  the  house- 
hold listening  quietly,  while  Bozhidar  Stankovitch, 
as  head  of  the  house,  made  the  responses.  After 
that  the  priest  took  up  the  Slava  cake  in  his  hand, 
and  Gospodin  Stankovitch  held  it  on  the  other  side  ; 
then  they  turned  it  round  so  that  the  priest  could  bless 
every  part  of  it,  after  which  he  cut  it  into  four  pieces. 
The  Slava  cake  is  not  always  eaten,  but  if  every  part 
were  not  turned  and  blessed  the  Serbs  believe  that 
the  absent  members  of  the  family  would  not  share 
in  the  family  fortunes  for  the  coming  year.  In  the 
centre  of  the  cake  the  priest  poured  a  little  red  wine, 
tilting  it  round  so  that  every  part  received  a  few 
drops,  and  after  he  had  said  a  long  prayer,  in  which 
the  names  of  all  the  saints  are  mentioned,  but  par- 
ticularly that  of  the  patron  saint  of  the  family  which 
is  holding  the  Slava,  the  little  service  was  over  and 
the  party  gave  themselves  up  to  merriment. 

135 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

A  Slava  generally  lasts  two  days,  and  during  that 
time  the  house  is  open  for  visitors,  who  come  to  wish 
the  household  Srechan  Praznik,  which  means  '  Happy 
Feast-day  to  you/ 

You  can  imagine  that  Gospodja  Stankovitch,  like 
the  good  housewife  she  was,  had  prepared  for  the 
occasion  a  very  big  larder  full  of  all  kinds  of  sweet 
cakes,  little  sugar  biscuits,  and  nut  pasties,  while 
Uncle  Bozhidar  had  taken  care  that  there  was  a  good 
supply  of  the  best  wine,  both  red  and  white,  for  his 
guests. 

All  that  day,  from  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  till 
ten  at  night,  there  was  a  continual  coming  and  going 
of  guests,  for  the  Stankovitch  family  was  a  large  one, 
and  of  course  practically  every  one  in  Posharevats 
came  as  well.  It  was  a  sleepy  little  town,  with  not 
much  to  amuse  people,  so  that  the  inhabitants  were 
always  ready  to  make  the  most  of  any  little  festivity 
that  was  going  on,  and  Bozhidar  Stankovitch  was 
very  popular  in  the  place  even  if  his  wife  was  not. 

Every  visitor  who  came  had  to  drink  several  glasses 
of  wine  and  sample  the  sweet  cakes,  particularly  the 
zhito  cake,  which  is  a  special  kind  only  made  for 
grand  occasions.  It  is  made  of  boiled  wheat,  nuts, 
and  a  great  deal  of  sugar,  and  is  really  very  delicious 
— better  even  than  the  nut  pasties,  and  they  are  nice 
enough  for  fairies  to  eat ! 

Then  there  was  coffee,  of  course,  of  which  every 
guest  must  partake.  So,  with  one  party  of  friends 
following  closely  on  the  heels  of  the  last,  all  the  house- 
hold was  kept  very  busy  running  hither  and  thither. 
There  was  a  great  bustle  of  talk  and  laughter,  and 
136 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Andrija  thought  it  was  fine  fun.  Ljubitsa  and 
Natalija  helped  their  mother  to  serve  the  coffee  and 
sweet  cakes  to  their  guests,  and  Uncle  Bozhidar 
allowed  Andrija  to  help  him  carry  round  the  wine 
after  he  had  promised  to  go  very  slowly  and  not 
spill  any  on  the  precious  carpets.  To  his  great  joy, 
Gospodja  Maryanovitch  and  her  husband,  Captain 
Maryanovitch,  came  to  wish  the  family  in  the  Villa 
Golub  Srechan  Praznik,  and  Andrija  was  very  proud 
to  carry  the  wine  to  the  man  who  had  fought  under 
his  father  and  helped  him  to  save  the  colours. 

Captain  Maryanovitch  liked  the  sturdy  little  boy, 
and  kept  him  by  his  side  for  a  long  time,  talking  about 
Belgrade  and  Colonel  Lazaravitch,  till  Andrija  was 
blissfully  happy  and  quite  forgot  his  loneliness  for 
the  time  being. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  when  you  are  a  man, 
Andrija  ?  '  he  asked,  knowing  very  well  what  the 
boy's  answer  would  be. 

"  I  shall  be  a  soldier,  of  course,  like  my  father. 
All  the  Lazaravitches  must  serve,"  said  Andrija 
proudly.  "  And  I  think  I  shall  be  an  aviator  like 
Lieutenant  Pepitch.  I  should  like  to  fly  in  the  air 
right  into  the  clouds  like  he  does.  He  says  he  has 
been  to  the  other  side  of  the  moon,  but  I  think  he 
was  only  joking." 

"  He's  always  joking,"  laughed  the  Captain.  "  I 
don't  believe  he  could  say  ten  words  without  a  jest 
in  them.  Ah  !  there  he  is,  talking  to  Gospodja 
Stankovitch.  I  did  not  know  he  was  in  Posharevats 
again." 

Andrija  darted  across  the  room  to  his  beloved 

137 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Pepitch.  He  did  not  dare  interrupt  his  conversation 
with  his  aunt,  but  slipped  his  hand  into  the  young 
officer's  and  waited  his  time.  Pepitch  smiled  down 
at  him  and  went  on  talking  to  his  hostess.  How 
smart  he  looked  !  for  he  had  put  on  his  very  best 
uniform  to  do  honour  to  the  Slava,  and  his  very 
shiniest  boots  with  the  jingling  silver  spurs.  Andrija 
liked  his  lean  brown  face  and  the  white  teeth  that 
showed  when  he  laughed,  as  he  did  very  often.  He 
had  his  best  sword  with  the  chased  hilt,  and  beautiful 
lavender  kid  gloves,  and  was  altogether,  with  his 
great  height  and  fine  carriage,  a  very  fine  specimen 
of  a  young  Serbian  officer. 

Andrija  waited  impatiently,  but  his  aunt  seemed 
to  go  on  talking  for  ever,  and  he  was  obliged  to  wait 
till  at  last  the  arrival  of  a  fresh  party  of  guests  set 
his  idol  free  and  he  pulled  him  away  toward  the 
corner  where  his  new  friends,  the  Maryanovitches, 
were  still  sitting.  . 

"  So  here  you  are,  Pepitch/'  said  Captain  Maryano- 
vitch.  "  I  thought  that  you  were  with  the  squadron 
at  Valievo." 

"  So  I  am  indeed,"  answered  Pepitch,  "  but  I  have 
four  days'  leave  and  came  two  days  ago  to  Posharevats 
to  see  my  cousin,  Dushan  Tomitch.  Afterward  I  go 
to  Valievo,  but  I  shall  not  be  there  long— I  am  to  go 
to  Paris  with  six  others,  and  shall  bring  back  the  new 
biplanes  with  them." 

Andrija  was  leaning  against  his  chair  listening  to 
every  word.     "  And  why  did  you  say  to  my  aunt 
that  my  father  would  not  be  away  long.     Is  he  going 
to  Paris  ?  " 
138 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Lieutenant  Pepitch  looked  rather  embarrassed. 
He  had  not  meant  the  boy  to  hear  the  discussion 
which  had  been  going  on  between  Gospodja  Stanko- 
vitch  and  himself,  for  it  was  true  that  there  was 
talk  of  Colonel  Lazaravitch  being  sent  to  France  on 
a  special  mission,  and  he  would  probably  be  out  of 
Serbia  for  four  or  five  months.  But  he  was  afraid 
that  Andrija  would  be  dreadfully  unhappy  if  he  knew 
this,  so  he  had  only  written  to  Pepitch  to  tell  him  to 
inform  Gospodja  Stankovitch. 

"It  is  true  there  is  some  talk  of  it,  Andrija,"  he 
said,  after  a  minute's  thought,  "  but  you  would  be 
glad  if  he  went,  would  you  not  ?  It  will  be  a  fine 
thing  for  him,  you  know — it  is  the  King  who  sends 
him,  and  you  would  want  him  to  serve  the  King  ? 
Still,  it  is  not  certain  that  he's  going,"  he  added. 

Andrija  nodded  slowly,  but  his  eyes  were  full  of 
tears  that  he  could  not  keep  back,  and  for  a  moment 
he  could  not  say  anything. 

"  But  I  do  not  want  him  to  leave  me,  Pepitcha 
mine,"  he  got  out  at  last.  '  There  is  nobody  else, 
and  he  will  be  so  lonely  without  me,  and  I  want  him. 
He  promised  to  come  to  see  me,  and  now  it  is  half 
a  year  since  he  was  here,  and  though  I  like  the 
school  and  the  boys  I  am  so  unhappy  without  him. 
Why  cannot  I  go  to  him  ?  ' 

"  See  you,  Andrija,"  said  his  friend,  "  you  have  been 
a  good  and  obedient  boy  this  fourteen  months  since 
you  came  to  Posharevats  ;  cannot  you  be  patient 
a  little  longer  ?  Your  father  is  busy  always,  and  you 
see  he  is  not  staying  long  in  one  place— he  is  in  the 
saddle  all  the  time  and  you  could  not  go  with  him." 

139 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Yes,  I  could,"  said  Andrija.  "  My  pony  is  very 
strong  and  I  can  ride  all  day  without  being  tired. 
Only  take  me  with  you,  Pepitch,  or  I  shall  die  of 
loneliness/' 

Lieutenant  Pepitch  looked  across  at  the  Maryano- 
vitches  ;  then  he  said  to  Andrija :  "  See,  Andrija, 
you  have  never  been  to  see  my  new  horse.  Ban  is 
his  name,  and  my  sais  has  him  outside — there  he  is, 
walking  up  and  down.  Go  out  and  ask  him  to  put 
you  up,  and  you  may  walk  him  gently  down  the  road, 
but  do  not  gallop  him,  for  he  is  tired  to-day — we 
were  out  this  morning  early." 

Andrija  trotted  away  obediently,  and  the  young 
aviator  turned  to  the  Maryanovitches.  "  What  am 
I  to  do  with  them  both  ?  "  he  asked.  "  There  is 
Lazaravitch  eating  his  heart  out  for  his  boy — you 
know  how  the  three  of  them  were  never  separated, 
and  he  is  all  he  has  left.  And  here  is  the  lad  fretting 
himself  into  a  fever  for  his  father — he  is  thinner 
already  than  when  I  saw  him  last,  and  there  seems 
to  be  no  happiness  in  the  child.  He  has  tried  his 
best,  I  am  certain,  to  be  obedient  to  his  father's 
wishes,  but  I  wish  Lazaravitch  could  see  him." 

He  looked  worried  as  he  spoke,  and  Yelka  Maryano- 
vitch,  who  was  very  fond  of  Andrija,  sighed  sym- 
pathetically as  she  said  :  "  Yes,  it  is  easy  to  see 
how  the  child  adores  his  father  ;  indeed,  I  have  never 
before  seen  one  so  young  who  thought  and  talked 
of  nothing  else  but  the  one  thing.  He  came  with 
the  little  Stankovitches  to  play  with  my  Djura 
on  Tuesday,  and  I  declare  it  made  my  heart  ache  to 
see  him  when  his  father's  photograph  came  out  of  my 
140 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

husband's  pocket — he  simply  leapt  at  it,  and  went 
into  a  corner  quite  alone  so  that  he  could  look  at  it 
without  the  eyes  of  the  other  children  on  him." 

'  He  is  a  fine  little  chap/'  said  Captain  Maryano- 
vitch,  "  and  manly  enough,  and  I  have  heard  him 
romping  and  laughing  freely  enough  at  school,  but 
he  is  like  a  fish  out  of  water  in  Gospodja  Stanko- 
vitch's  house."  Captain  Maryanovitch  was  a  blunt 
sort  of  man  who  said  what  he  thought,  but  his  wife 
hastened  to  change  the  subject,  as,  though  she  did 
not  approve  of  the  way  Andrija  was  treated  by  his 
aunt,  still  she  was  a  guest  in  her  house  and  as  such 
she  felt  it  was  discourteous  to  discuss  their  hostess. 

As  Andrija  came  back  flushed  and  joyous  from 
his  little  excursion  with  '  Ban/  Lieutenant  Pepitch 
was  just  saying  good-bye  to  Aunt  Olga  and  Uncle 
Bozhidar,  and  he  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  veranda 
post-haste,  nearly  knocking  down  Natalija  in  his 
hurry. 

"  Oh,  Pepitch,  do  not  go,  do  not  go  yet !  "  he  cried. 
"  I  have  so  many  things  to  tell  you,  and  I  want  to 
show  you  Knez  Lazar — he  has  grown  so  big  a  dog 
since  last  you  saw  him." 

But  Lieutenant  Pepitch  shook  his  head.  "  I 
must  go,  Andrija,"  he  said.  "It  is  late  now,  and 
you  know  I  leave  very  early  to-morrow.  I  will  see 
Lazar  another  time— because  I  shall  come  and  see 
you  again,  you  know.  I  am  not  going  to  stay 
very  long  in  Paris,  and  then  you  shall  come  and  see 
my  new  biplane,  and  perhaps  I  will  fly  over  in  it 
to  see  you." 

"  And  truly,  Andrija,"  said  his  aunt,  "  it  is  very 

141 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

kind  indeed  of  Lieutenant  Pepitch  to  waste  his.  time 
talking  to  you,  when  there  are  so  many  other  people 
he  must  prefer  to  see.  It  is  not  every  one  would 
spend  a  whole  afternoon  with  a  little  boy  who  does 
not  know  how  to  behave. 

"  You  would  hardly  believe/'  she  continued, 
turning  to  Pepitch,  who  stood,  cap  in  hand,  very 
much  perturbed  while  she  said  these  things  in 
Andrija's  hearing  — Andrij  a  who  when  Pepitch  re- 
membered him  had  never  heard  so  much  as  a  rough 
word  in  his  whole  life — "  you  would  hardly  believe 
what  trouble  we  have  with  this  boy.  I  cannot 
imagine  what  kind  of  a  household  my  brother  had  in 
Belgrade.  He  is  like  a  little  savage  in  some  things." 

Pepitch  drew  himself  up  rather  stiffly.  "  The  boy 
was  always  good  as  I  remember  him,  Gospodja," 
he  said,  "  and  obedience  itself  to  both  Colonel 
Lazaravitch  and  Madame  Lazaravitch." 

Aunt  Olga  sniffed  disparagingly,  for  she  detested 
any  praise  of  Andrija's  mother.  "  Dushan  should 
have  married  one  of  his  own  countrywomen,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  no  patience  with  these  foreign 
marriages.  The  women  may  be  well  enough,  but 
they  despise  our  good  old  Serbian  ways,  and  they 
have  about  as  much  idea  of  bringing  up  a  child  as 
that  pigeon  yonder." 

Pepitch  looked  at  her  warningly,  and  in  a  low 
voice  he  said  :  "Be  careful  how  you  speak  of  the 
child's  mother  in  his  presence,  Gospodja.  I  cannot 
make  you  understand  what  a  household  that  was, 
since  you  admit  you  scarcely  knew  Madame  Lazara- 
vitch. The  boy  worshipped  her,  and  still  does.  I 
142 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

am  sure,  if  you  want  to  retain  his  affection — pardon 
my  saying  so— it  will  be  wise  not  to  let  him  hear  you 
speak  against  her/' 

Gospodja  Stankovitch  was  very  much  annoyed  by 
what  she  called  in  her  heart,  though  Pepitch  had 
spoken  very  politely  and  deferentially,  '  his  im- 
pertinence/ and  she  answered  very  stiffly  and  in  a 
rather  raised  voice,  so  that  Andrija,  who  had  not 
heard  the  first  part  of  the  conversation,  could 
scarcely  avoid  catching  her  remarks. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  tired  of  hearing  about  the  boy 
and  his  mother  too.  My  brother  handed  him  over 
to  me  at  a  very  inconvenient  time,  without  as  much 
as  a  'please/  and  here  I  am  saddled  with  the 
responsibility  of  a  growing  lad,  who  is  as  foolish 
about  his  father  and  his  home  as  a  lovesick  girl  is 
over  her  betrothed.  I  declare  his  uncle  and  I  slave 
from  morning  till  night  to  make  him  happy  and 
diligent,  and  all  the  thanks  we  ever  get  are  black 
looks  and  sullen  tempers,  and  he  expects  to  be 
waited  on  like  a  little  prince.  My  brother  is  a 
wealthy  man,  but  we  are  not  rich,  and  there  is 
enough  to  do  these  days  to  keep  a  house  going 
without  any  additional  worry/* 

Pepitch  shrugged  his  shoulders  very  slightly. 
Evidently  it  was  no  use  talking,  and  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  leave  Andrija  to  worry  through  the  rest 
of  his  time  in  Posharevats.  But  as  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away  with  a  salute  to  his  host,  who 
came  to  the  garden  gate  to  see  him  off,  he  had  a 
parting  glimpse  of  a  woebegone  little  face  peeping 
out  from  the  bushes  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 

143 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

and  all  the  rest  of  the  day  and  even  when  he  had 
gone  back  to  Valievo  he  felt  bothered  and  worried, 
till  he  almost  decided  to  write  to  Colonel  Lazaravitch 
and  get  him  to  think  of  some  other  plan  for  Andrija's 
schooldays,  till  such  time  as  they  would  be  together 
again. 

Gospodja  Stankovitch  had  to  summon  up  a  smile 
to  her  face  again  after  Pepitch  had  gone,  though  she 
was  still  very  angry,  for  other  visitors  arrived,  and 
she  was  busy  looking  after  their  wants  and  gossiping 
with  them.  She  did  not  miss  Andrija,  who  had  gone 
out  of  the  house  and  hidden  himself  in  the  garden, 
for  he  did  not  want  to  see  his  aunt  just  then.  He 
had  too  much  to  think  about,  and  he  could  not  think 
properly  with  all  the  noise  in  the  house.  Was  it 
true  that  his  father  was  really  going  away  !  And 
how  far  was  Paris  from  Posharevats  ?  Would  he 
go  without  coming  to  say  good-bye  to  him? — surely 
not  that !  Perhaps  it  was  not  true ;  perhaps  he  had 
only  mistaken  what  Pepitch  had  said.  Why  had 
Aunt  Olga  not  wanted  him  to  know  that  his  father 
was  going  to  France  ? 

"  I  think  the  King  ought  to  send  someone  else," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  sat  in  the  middle  of  a  big 
bush  well  hidden  from  sight  of  the  house.  "  Pepitch 
could  take  the  message,  I  should  think,  while  he  is 
in  France — and  he  must  go,  of  course,  because  of  the 
new  biplane.  But  I  do  not  think  I  want  Father  to 
go  without  me.  To-night  I  shall  ask  Aunt  Olga, 
or  to-morrow — yes,  I  will  wait  till  to-morrow,  when 
the  Slava  is  over,  and  then  I  will  make  her  tell  me 
what  my  father  has  said  to  her." 
144 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  Andrija  kept  successfully 
out  of  his  aunt's  way,  and  in  the  evening  he  went 
with  Ljubitsa  to  a  neighbour's  vineyard  to  gather 
some  grapes.  It  was  a  pleasant  walk,  up  a  long 
slope  planted  on  both  sides  with  fruit  trees,  past  the 
white  church,  and  along  a  winding  stretch  of  country 
road.  The  houses  on  either  side  were  low  and 
thatch-roofed,  some  painted  pink,  others  pale  yellow. 
There  were  cheerful  ducks  paddling  joyously  in  the 
green  ditch  that  bordered  the  road,  and  every  cottage 
garden  was  gay  with  sunflowers  and  roses.  As  they 
mounted  the  hill  they  could  see  the  Danube  glitter- 
ing like  a  silver  snake  in  the  far  distance,  winding 
in  and  out  among  the  plains,  and  the  sun  shone  like 
a  big  ball  of  fire  over  the  fields  and  woods.  To  the 
left  they  could  see  the  aerodrome  where  Pepitch  had 
first  learnt  his  flying,  and  even  as  they  looked  a 
monoplane  with  the  colours  of  Serbia  painted  under 
its  white  wings  rose  into  the  air  and  came  circling 
over  the  town. 

"  Look,  Ljubitsa,"  cried  Andrija  excitedly,  "  look 
at  the  monoplane  !  Perhaps  it  is  Pepitch  having 
a  little  fly  here  before  he  goes  back  !  See  how  low 
she  is  coming — look,  she  dips  like  a  bird  !  '; 

Ljubitsa  looked  as  she  was  told,  but  she  was  not 
much  interested  in  aeroplanes. 

"  I  should  like  to  fly,"  said  Andrija  wistfully. 
"  When  I  am  a  man  I  shall  be  an  aviator  as  well 
as  a  soldier,  and  I  shall  fly  all  kinds  of  aeroplanes — 
monoplanes  and  biplanes,  and  the  kind  that  I  have 
never  seen  that  is  like  a  big  sausage  up  in  the  air. 
Pepitch  tells  me  about  them,  and  he  says  they  can 
K  145 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

carry  twenty,  thirty,  forty  people,  and  are  very 
good  to  fight  with.  But  I  think  I  shall  always  like 
a  monoplane  best,  with  a  gun  in  it,  of  course." 

Ljubitsa  laughed  rather  scornfully.  She  was  a 
somewhat  disagreeable  child,  very  fond  of  ordering 
the  younger  ones  about,  and  she  was  rather  annoyed 
at  being  sent  on  this  errand  to  gather  grapes  when 
she  wanted  to  stay  and  help  to  entertain  the  Slava 
guests. 

"  I  think  you  talk  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  Andrija, 
always,"  she  said.  "  You  will  have  to  wait  a  great 
many  years  before  you  can  even  think  of  being 
an  officer,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  not  even  be  able 
to  pass  the  examinations.  My  father  says  they  are 
growing  more  difficult  every  year,  and  you  are  not 
very  clever,  you  know.  It  is  a  pity  you  did  not  go 
to  school  before." 

Andrija  frowned  at  her  till  his  black  eyebrows 
almost  met  in  the  middle  of  his  face. 

"  You  are  always  cross,  Ljubitsa,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  do  not  know  why  there  are  so  many  cross  people 
in  the  world  :  I  never  imagined  there  were  so  many 
before  I  came  to  live  in  your  house.  In  the  Villa 
Golub  it  is  quarrel,  quarrel  all  day  and  every  day 
too.  Even  on  saints'  days  there  is  cross  speaking." 

Ljubitsa  tossed  her  head.  "  It  is  because  you  are 
such  a  disagreeable  little  boy,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure 
we  do  not  want  you  to  live  with  us,  but  I  have  heard 
my  mother  say  that  it  is  a  charity  to  bring  you  up 
in  a  civilized  way  after  the  silly  ways  you  have  been 
accustomed  to." 

"  They  were  not  silly  ways,"  shouted  Andrija, 
146 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

very  angry  now,  "  and  if  you  were  not  a  girl  I  should 
hit  you,  but  my  father  would  never  let  me  hit  a  girl. 
I  don't  think  he  can  have  meant  cousins,  though ; 
perhaps  they  are  different  " — this  in  a  rather  hopeful 
voice,  for  Andrija  found  it  very  hard  to  keep  his 
temper  with  both  Ljubitsa  and  Natalija  when  they 
teased  him,  as  they  were  rather  fond  of  doing  when 
Uncle  Bozhidar  was  not  about. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  try  to  hit  me  !  "  laughed 
Ljubitsa  aggravatingly  ;  "  but  you  had  better  be 
good,  or  Gospodja  Hitch  will  tell  mother  what  a 
rude  little  boy  her  nephew  is." 

Andrija  clenched  his  fists  and  swallowed  hard,  but 
fortunately  just  then  they  turned  the  corner  of  the 
lane  leading  up  to  Marko  Hitch's  vineyard,  and  his 
wife  was  standing  before  the  high  locked  gate  to 
let  them  in. 

"  Come  in,  children,"  she  said,  smiling  at  them 
both,  "  and  you  shall  gather  your  grapes  now  before 
the  dew  falls.  You  are  later  than  I  thought  to  see 
you." 

:<  It  is  because  it  is  our  Slav a,"  said  Ljubitsa 
importantly.  "  We  have  had  so  many  guests  that 
I  could  not  get  away  before.  Mind  you  do  not  tear 
your  clothes  on  the  thorn-bush,  Andrija.  You  are 
such  a  careless  boy." 

Andrija  ran  round  to  the  other  side  of  Ivanka 
Hitch,  who  was  a  very  big  woman  and  made  a  kind 
of  tower  between  himself  and  Ljubitsa.  He  was  tired 
of  looking  at  her,  and  still  more  tired  of  talking  to 
her,  so  he  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  keep 
out  of  her  sight,  which  was  rather  sensible  of  him. 

147 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

'  There  is  a  splendid  crop  this  year,"  remarked 
Ivanka  Hitch,  as  she  led  the  way  up  a  narrow  path 
to  the  vineyard.  "  See  how  heavy  the  branches 
hang  ;  and  they  are  fine  big  grapes  too — none  of 
your  little  marbles  that  are  half  sour/' 

Ljubitsa  and  Andrija  were  each  laden  with  a  big 
basket,  and  in  a  very  short  time  the  baskets  were 
full  to  the  brim  with  beautiful  purple  grapes,  on  the 
top  of  which  Ivanka  laid  some  of  the  vine  leaves  so 
that  the  fruit  should  not  get  dusty  on  the  way  down 
the  hill. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  you  must  come  down  to 
my  house  and  drink  some  malina,  for  you  must  be 
both  tired  and  thirsty  after  your  long  walk." 

Malina  is  a  kind  of  sweet  syrupy  drink  made  from 
raspberries,  and  all  Serbian  children  are  very  fond 
of  it,  so  of  course  Andrija  and  Ljubitsa  accepted  the 
invitation  very  politely  and  went  down  the  fields 
to  the  gay  little  cottage  where  Ivanka  and  her 
husband  lived.  Every  one  liked  Marko  and  Ivanka 
Hitch,  for  they  were  such  kind-hearted  people,  and 
though  they  had  no  children  of  their  own  they  under- 
stood exactly  what  children  liked,  and  so  their 
house  was  rarely  without  some  boys  or  girls,  popping 
in  and  out  like  squirrels.  The  garden  was  always 
full  of  flowers — roses  and  carnations,  sunflowers  and 
mallows,  all  blooming  cheerily  away  together,  and 
over  the  cottage  walls,  which  were  coloured  pink, 
pretty  creepers  were  allowed  to  twine  and  twist. 
There  was  a  little  arbour  covered  with  vines,  and 
inside  was  a  table  and  a  long  bench.  There  the 
children  sat  to  drink  their  malina,  while  far  below 
148 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

them  they  could  see  the  smoke  rising  from  the  roofs 
of  Posharevats,  and  trace  the  silver  streak  of  the 
Danube  in  the  distance.  In  the  blue  sky  the  aero- 
plane still  circled  like  a  big  swallow,  turning  and 
twisting  as  if  it  enjoyed  playing  tricks  high  up  in 
the  air,  and  Andrija  presently,  to  Ljubitsa's  horror, 
lay  down  on  his  back  on  the  grass  and  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hands  the  better  to  watch  it.  In  vain 
she  scolded  and  commented  on  his  strange  ways  to 
kind  old  Ivanka  Hitch  ;  Andrija  was  deaf  to  all  her 
remarks — indeed,  he  scarcely  heard  her,  for  he  was 
imagining  that  that  was  Ms  aeroplane,  and  that  it 
was  he  who  was  cutting  those  delightful  capers  in  the 
blue  sky. 

But  the  sun  was  setting  in  a  blaze  of  colour  and 
presently  it  would  disappear  from  sight.  It  was 
time  to  go  back,  for  the  twilight  falls  quickly  in 
Serbia  and  it  was  a  long  way  to  the  Villa  Golub. 
So  they  shouldered  their  baskets  of  grapes — and 
how  heavy  they  grew  after  they  had  walked  a  little 
way  !— and  set  off  down  the  hill  to  Posharevats. 

They  found  Natalija  in  bed  when  they  got  back- 
she  had  eaten  too  many  sweet  cakes  and  made  her- 
self ill  in  consequence— and  Aunt  Olga  very  quickly 
packed  the  other  two  off  after  they  had  eaten  their 
supper.  She  was  very  tired  after  the  long  day,  and 
as  tiredness  in  Aunt  Olga's  case  generally  meant 
crossness— as  it  often  does  with  grown  people,  just 
as  with  small  ones— Uncle  Bozhidar  had  taken  refuge 
in  a  cafe,  where  he  could  smoke  his  cigarettes  and 
read  his  evening  paper  in  peace. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  Slava  there  were  not 

149 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

quite  so  many  people,  but  Andrija  was  obliged  to 
wait  until  they  had  gone  before  he  could  summon 
up  courage  to  bring  forward  the  subject  of  his  father's 
journey.  Aunt  Olga,  however,  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity, for  late  in  the  evening,  just  as  Uncle  Bozhidar 
was  putting  on  his  hat  before  going  out  as  usual,  she 
stopped  him  by  saying  : 

"  Before  you  go,  Bozhidar  Stankovitch,  I  wish  you 
would  write  a  letter  for  me  to  my  brother.  I  am 
really  so  tired  that  I  cannot  write  properly,  and  if 
it  is  not  done  to-night  it  cannot  go  to-morrow,  and 
after  that  it  will  be  too  late." 

Uncle  Bozhidar  came  back  into  the  room,  and 
Andrija,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  floor  studying 
a  book  which  had  pictures  of  ships  and  engines  in  it, 
looked  up  at  him  as  he  passed. 

"  Uncle  Bozhidar/'  he  said,  "  why  does  my  aunt 
say  it  will  be  too  late  if  she  does  not  write  to 
my  father  to-morrow?  Is  it  true  that  he  is  going 
away  ?  ' 

"  Of  course  it  is  true,  little  listener  that  you  are, 
Andrija  Lazaravitch, "  said  his  aunt  angrily. 

"  I  did  not  listen,"  said  Andrija  equally  angrily,  "  I 
never  do,  but  you  talked  to  Lieutenant  Pepitch  when 
I  was  there  and  I  asked  him  if  my  father  was  going 
away." 

"  Well,  and  if  you  have  asked  your  Pepitch  what 
need  to  worry  your  uncle?  "  said  Aunt  Olga.  "  It 
is  question,  question,  question  from  morning  till 
night." 

"  Because  Pepitch  said  it  was  not  certain  that  he 
would  go,"  Andrija  replied.  "  And  I  want  to  know." 

150 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Then   he  turned   to   his   uncle.     "  Tell   me,    Uncle 
Bozhidar.     I  must  know  !  "  he  pleaded. 

'  Yes,  I  think  he  will  go,  Andrija,"  said  his  uncle, 
"  but  not  for  another  ten  days  at  least— perhaps 
more.  He  has  many  things  to  arrange/' 

"  Will  he  come  and  see  me  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 
'  He  must  not  go  to  Paris  unless  he  comes  to  me 
first." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  will  be  no  time,  Andrija/'  said 
his  uncle,  but  very  kindly,  for  he  knew  what  the  boy 
would  feel  about  the  long  separation. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  a  busy  man  like  your  father 
can  spend  all  his  time  running  about  the  country 
because  a  spoilt  little  boy  wants  to  see  him  perpetu- 
ally ?  "  cried  Aunt  Olga. 

"  Hush,  Olga,  hush,  my  wife  I  "  said  Bozhidar 
Stankovitch.  "It  is  not  kind  to  speak  like  that. 
But  Andrija  must  remember  that  he  is  growing  a 
big  boy  now,  and  he  must  learn  to  be  good  and  not 
fret  if  he  does  not  see  his  father." 

Andrija  stood  by  the  table  playing  with  his  uncle's 
gloves,  which  lay  there.  Suddenly  he  looked  up. 

"  Then,  Uncle  Bozhidar,  will  you  take  me  with 
you  in  the  train  to  see  him  ?  I  must  say  good-bye 
to  him  if  he  must  go.  I  know  he's  always  busy,  but 
he  would  be  pleased  if  we  went  to  see  him.  Please, 
please,  Uncle  Bozhidar,  say  we  may  go  !  'J 

Aunt  Olga  looked  at  him  with  a  very  annoyed  ex- 
pression on  her  face.  "  Really,  Andrija,"  she  said, 
"  you  have  some  of  the  most  ridiculous  ideas  it  is 
possible  for  any  boy  to  have  in  this  world.  Do  ycru 
really  imagine  that  your  uncle  can  spend  his  time 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

travelling  up  and  down  the  country  with  you  for  a 
mere  fad  ?  Do  you  know  that  journeys  cost  money, 
much  money  ?  And  do  you  think  money  comes  out 
of  the  earth  or  drops  from  the  sky  ?  Indeed,  you 
should  be  very  thankful  that  you  are  cared  for  and 
watched  over  as  you  are,  for  if  you  were  left  to  your 
own  devices  there  is  no  telling  where  your  wild  ideas 
would  carry  you/' 

Andrija  listened  silently,  then  he  turned  again  to 
his  uncle  with  rather  an  obstinate  look  on  his  face. 
"  May  we  go  all  the  same,  Uncle  Bozhidar  ?  "  he 
said.     "  I  have  some  money  in  my  box,  you  know, 
and  we  could  buy  the  railway  tickets  with  that.     I 
must  see  my  father.     Please,  please,  Uncle  Bozhidar, 
say  that  we  may  go  !  "  and  here  Andrija's  voice 
broke  and  he  had  hard  work  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip. 
Bozhidar  Stankovitch  looked  helplessly  round,  first 
at  Andrija's  stormy  little  face,  then  at  his  wife's 
angry  one.    He  was  a  very  kind  man,  but  he  did 
not  know  how  to  make  Andrija  understand  that  it 
was  impossible  to  take  the  boy  so  long  a  journey  just 
then.    He  himself  was  a  very  busy  man,  and  his  time 
was  valuable  ;  also  he  thought  that  if  Colonel  Lazara- 
vitch  had  wanted  to  see  his  son  he  would  either  have 
snatched  a  few  days'  leave,  difficult  as  that  might  be, 
or  have  sent  a  message  saying  that  Andrija  was  to 
be  brought  to  him.     What  he  did  not  know  was  that 
Andrija's  father  was  so  filled  with  longing  to  see  his 
son  that  he  really  dared  not  see  him,  for  he  knew  very 
well  that  if  he  did  he  would  never  be  able  to  send  him 
back,  and  he  was  honestly  trying  to  do  what   he 
thought  wisest  for  the  boy. 

152 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Andrija  waited  a  long  time  for  his  answer,  while 
Aunt  Olga  looked  stonily  out  of  the  window,  avoiding 
her  husband's  eye,  till  at  last  he  said  :  "  I  am  sorry, 
Andrija,  but  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  take  you 
—you  must  be  a  good  boy  and  try  to  be  patient  till 
your  father  comes  back.  I  am  sure  he  would  wish 
you  to  be  obedient  to  your  aunt  and  myself/' 

Andrija's  eyes  opened  a  little  wider  and  his  lips 
quivered,  but  he  said  bravely  enough  : 

"  I  have  been  good,  I  have  been  obedient  for  more 
than  a  year.  Please,  please  let  me  go  and  I  will 
always  be  good  and  never  spoil  my  boots  or  ..." 
Poor  Andrija  could  not  think  of  any  more  crimes 
just  then,  so  he  stopped  to  see  what  the  effect  of  his 
last  appeal  would  be. 

But  his  uncle  only  shook  his  head,  and  Aunt  Olga 
gave  a  little  unkind  laugh  at  the  boy's  discomfiture. 
That  was  the  last  straw  for  Andrija.  He  rushed  out 
of  the  room  and  down  the  steps,  then  out  of  the 
garden,  and  ran  like  a  little  wild  thing  along  the  road 
till  he  reached  the  open  common.  Then  he  flung 
himself  down  under  an  oak-tree  and  sobbed  as  if  his 
heart  would  break.  How  could  he  wait  any  longer 
to  see  his  father  ?  It  was  long  before  his  sobs  ceased, 
but  in  the  end  he  sat  up  and  dried  his  eyes  ;  then  he 
shut  his  mouth  very  tightly,  for  he  had  made  a  great 
resolution. 

Since  neither  his  aunt  nor  his  uncle  would  take 
him  to  his  father  he  would  go  by  himself.  "  Nobody 
shall  know,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and  nobody  shall 
stop  me.  I  am  big  now,  I  am  eight  years  old  just, 
and  I  have  money  in  my  little  box  if  I  can  get  it  out. 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

If  there  is  not  enough  money  to  buy  a  ticket  then  I 
shall  walk.  I  can't  take  Svetko,  because  if  I  go  in 
the  train  he  could  not  go  with  me  and  I  am  afraid 
he  would  be  stolen  by  somebody.  I  wish  I  could  take 
him,  because  he  can  run  so  quickly,  but  I  think  he 
will  have  to  stay  behind.  I  shall  write  a  letter  to 
Aunt  Olga  so  that  she  will  not  think  I  have  run  away 
for  good — I  shall  come  back  because  I  promised  I 
would  stay  ;  but  I  must  see  Father  before  he  goes  to 
France.  Nobody  shall  stop  me/' 

He  sat  still  on  the  short  grass  a  little  longer  think- 
ing very  hard  about  the  way  he  would  go.  "  First  I 
shall  open  my  box/'  he  said,  "  and  take  the  money 
for  the  ticket  to  the  station.  I  do  not  suppose  I 
shall  have  enough  to  take  me  very  far,  because 
journeys  cost  much  money— Uncle  Bozhidar  is  always 
saying  that — but  I  can  go  some  way  in  the  train,  and 
then  walk  the  rest  of  the  way.  I  must  get  some 
food,  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  meet  kind  people  on  the 
way— always  up  at  Ban]  a,  when  I  was  hungry,  if  we 
walked  in  the  mountains,  the  people  in  the  villages 
gave  us  as  much  cheese  or  kaimak  as  we  wanted." 

Then  it  occurred  to  Andrija  that  as  the  sun  was 
getting  low  in  the  sky  he  had  better  return  to  the 
Villa  Golub,  and  reluctantly  he  made  his  way  back 
to  the  house.  No  one  was  about  as  he  entered,  so 
he  went  to  his  little  room  and  hunted  for  the  box 
where  he  kept  his  small  treasures.  Yes  !  there  was 
his  money-box,  but  it  was  very  difficult  to  open— he 
would  have  to  break  into  it  as  best  he  could.  He 
had  a  big  pen-knife  which  his  father  had  given  to 
him  as  one  of  his  last  presents,  and  after  a  good  deal 

154 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

of  struggling  and  hacking  he  succeeded  in  prising 
open  the  lid  of  the  box  and  fishing  out  the  little  store 
of  money. 

It  was  not  very  much  really,  but  it  seemed  a  great 
deal  to  Andrija,  and  he  counted  out  the  copper  coins 
and  the  half  dinara  with  great  care  and  patience. 
There  was  a  big  silver  dinar  and  there  was  one  five- 
dinar  piece,  which  was  a  great  deal  of  money  in 
Andrija's  eyes. 

He  put  the  money  in  a  little  leather  purse  he  had, 
and  then  put  the  purse  into  the  pocket  of  his  sailor 
suit.  How  heavy  it  was  !  Never  mind,  he  would 
soon  give  it  to  the  man  at  the  station,  and  his  ticket 
would  not  be  very  much  to  carry  ! 

There  was  not  time  to  make  any  more  preparations 
for  the  journey,  because  just  then  Andrija  heard 
voices  in  the  kitchen  and  smelt  the  supper  cooking, 
so  he  knew  he  had  better  go  and  find  out  what  every 
one  was  doing. 

It  seemed  a  long  evening  to  Andrija,  for  he  was 
tired  out,  both  with  the  excitement  of  the  great  ad- 
venture he  was  planning  and  with  the  fit  of  crying, 
which  had  made  him  feel  as  if  he  had  been  soundly 
beaten. 

Supper  took  a  long  time,  but  at  least  his  aunt  had 
warned  Ljubitsa  and  Natalija  to  take  no  notice  of 
the  boy's  red  eyes  and  swollen  eyelids,  a  piece  of 
thoughtfulness  sufficiently  rare  on  her  part  which 
prevented  any  stormy  scenes  while  supper  was  in 
progress.  Directly  the  children  had  finished  Aunt 
Olga  turned  to  Andrija  and  addressed  him  in  her 
usual  sharp  manner  : 

155 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Now,  Andrija/'  she  said,  "  make  haste  and  go  to 
bed,  or  you  will  be  wanting  to  sleep  all  day  to-morrow. 
Say  good  night  to  your  uncle,  and  do  not  forget  that 
you  must  put  your  dark  suit  on  in  the  morning.  / 
cannot  be  having  white  ones  washed  continually, 
whatever  fancies  my  brother  had  on  the  subject/' 

Andrija  did  not  make  any  reply  to  this,  but  went 
gravely  to  his  uncle  and  aunt  to  wish  them  good 
night ;  then  he  passed  out  of  the  room,  carefully 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  He  had  meant  to  make 
all  his  little  preparations  that  same  night,  but  his 
poor  tired  body  and  aching  head  would  not  let  him 
do  anything  but  just  tumble  into  bed,  and  as  soon 
as  his  head  touched  the  pillow  he  was  sound  asleep, 
holding  fast  his  precious  star,  which  was  now  one  of 
his  greatest  treasures. 


156 


CHAPTER  III  :  THE  SEEKING 

FOR  a  few  minutes  after  Andrija  awoke  the 
next  morning  he  scarcely  remembered  that 
this  was  the  day  on  which  he  had  planned 
to  start  his  great  adventure.  Then  suddenly  he  sat 
up  in  bed  rubbing  his  eyes.  "  Hurrah  !  "  he  cried 
softly,  "  what  a  stupid  I  am  to  be  lying  in  bed  like 
this  !  I  must  get  up  and  open  my  money-box  so 
that  I  can  buy  my  ticket  !  "  And,  jumping  out  of 
bed,  he  ran  to  the  drawer  where  he  kept  his  treasures, 
and  then  he  remembered  that,  of  course,  he  had 
opened  the  money-box  the  night  before. 

"  I  must  be  dreaming  awake,  that  is  certain,"  he 
thought,  "  or  else  I  should  never  have  forgotten  that 
I  did  it.  Now  I  must  write  a  letter  to  Aunt  Olga,  or 
else  to  Uncle  Bozhidar. — yes,  I  will  write  it  to  him  and 
tell  him  that  I  am  going,  so  that  he  will  not  think 
I  am  lost.  And  if  I  ride  Svetko  to  the  station  I  can 
fasten  the  letter  to  his  saddle  and  send  him  back — 
he  can  find  his  way  back  because  he  knows  it  well." 
And  as  soon  as  he  had  struggled  into  his  clothes  he 
sat  down  on  the  floor  and  with  a  stumpy  bit  of  pencil 
he  wrote  the  note  to  his  uncle  : 

DEAR  UNCLE  BOZHIDAR, 

Svetko  will  bring  you  this  letter,  because  I  am  going  in 
the  train  to  see  my  father,  and  I  have  taken  the  money  out  of  my 
box.  I  send  you  my  love,  and  I  wish  you  were  coming  too,  but 
I  must  go  to  see  my  father.  Your  nephew, 

ANDRIJA 

"  There,"  he  said  when  he  had  finished,  "  I  think 
that  will  do,"  and  he  stuffed  the  letter  inside  his 

157 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

sailor  blouse.  Just  then  Aunt  Olga  called  him  to 
come  and  fetch  his  coffee  from  the  kitchen,  and  he 
ate  as  big  a  breakfast  as  he  could, 'of  bread  and  fruit, 
"  Because/'  he  said  to  himself,  "  1  do  not  know  if  I 
shall  be  able  to  buy  much  with  my  money/' 

It  was  very  difficult  for  Andrija,  who  was  a  frank 
little  person,  and  as  a  rule  said  everything  that  came 
into  his  head,  not  to  tell  his  uncle,  at  least,  what 
he  was  doing.  But  this  one  matter  of  going  to  his 
father  he  felt  was  much  too  important  to  run  the 
risk  of  any  interference,  and  grown-up  people — among 
whom  Andrija  never  counted  his  father  and  mother, 
nor  even  Lieutenant  Pepitch— never  understood  any- 
thing, even  when  a  boy  tried  to  explain  as  carefully 
as  possible.  Whatever  happened,  Andrija  meant  to 
see  that  adored  father  of  his  before  he  went  to  France, 
and  he  felt  convinced  that  if  once  Aunt  Olga  guessed 
his  plans  he  would  be  fastened  in  his  room  and  for- 
bidden to  go  out  of  the  house. 

So  he  munched  his  rolls  and  drank  his  coffee  silently, 
thinking  all  the  time  of  what  he  would  take  with  him. 
His  purse,  of  course,  and  some  string,  and  his  big 
pen-knife,  and  a  little  bread,  and  some  water  in  his 
leather  water-bottle,  which  he  always  carried  on  his 
saddle  when  Svetko  and  he  went  out  for  a  long  ride. 
Perhaps  he  had  better  not  pump  the  water  from  their 
own  well,  or  his  aunt  would  certainly  ask  him  what 
he  was  doing  and  where  he  was  going  ! 

When  breakfast  was  over  he  collected  his  little 
parcels  and  stuffed  them  into  his  blouse,  with  a  hand- 
ful of  dates  and  some  chocolate  that  he  had  been 
given  by  the  Maryanovitches.  Then  he  went  quietly 

158 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

out  of  the  house  and  out  of  the  garden  gate  and 
down  to  the  stable  where  his  pony  was  kept,  which 
was  some  little  distance  from  the  Villa  Golub.  His 
father  had  taught  him  to  saddle  Svetko  just  before 
he  came  to  Posharevats,  and  the  friendly  stableman 
helped  him  to  tighten  the  stiff  straps  and  buckles. 

As  he  rode  through  the  cobbled  streets  he  met 
several  people  he  knew,  but  every  one  was  so  used 
to  seeing  him  with  his  shaggy  friend  that  they  just 
smiled  as  he  passed  them  and  wished  him  a  pleasant 
ride.  Soon  he  was  out  of  the  town  and  along  the 
straight  white  road  which  leads  to  Ossipaonitsa,  the 
little  station  some  eight  kilometres  from  Posharevats 
which  is  the  nearest  point  on  the  railway  line.  It 
was  still  very  early,  and  the  morning  was  delightfully 
fresh  and  cool.  Andrija  was  so  happy  as 'he  rode 
along  under  the  shade  of  the  big  oaks  which  border 
the  road  that  he  sang  lustily  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
a  thing  forbidden  in  the  Villa  Golub. 

"  Napred  ['  Forward '],  Svetko/'  he  cried,  "  napred! 
We  must  be  there  as  soon  as  we  can  ;  then  when  I  am 
in  the  big  train  which  runs  so  quickly  over  the  rails 
3^ou  must  go  home  ;  and  do  not  be  lonely  without 
me,  for  I  shall  soon  come  back/'  And  Svetko  tossed 
his  shaggy  head  and  quickened  his  trot  as  if  he  quite 
understood  all  that  his  master  was  saying  to  him. 

The  road  was  full  of  ox-wagons  bringing  flour 
from  the  station,  but  Svetko  did  not  mind  them  and 
he  covered  the  ground  very  quickly,  so  that  they  were 
soon  in  the  dusty  square  with  its  two  dingy  kafanas 
which  overlooks  the  station  at  Ossipaonitsa.  Andrija 
jumped  down  and  tied  Svetko  to  the  railings. 

159 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Wait  there  a  little  minute,  Svetko,"  he  said, 
patting  the  pony's  soft  nose  ;  "  you  must  carry  a 
letter  for  me  ;  but  first  wait  till  I  buy  the  ticket/' 
And  he  went  inside  the  station  gates  looking  quite 
sure  of  himself,  for  he  had  been  used  to  travelling  by 
train  ever  since  he  was  a  tiny  child,  and  he  had  often 
heard  his  father  ask  for  the  tickets. 

Presently  he  came  out  again  looking  a  little 
anxious.  "  Svetko/'  he  said,  rubbing  his  hand 
against  the  pony's  soft  nose,  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  money  I  have  will  not  go  very  far,  and  I  could 
only  buy  a  ticket  to  Velika  Plana,  and  what  is  to 
come  after  I  do  not  quite  know.  I  can  walk  a  long 
way,  it  is  true,  and  not  get  tired,  and  it  is  so  warm 
that  I  do  not  mind  if  I  sleep  under  the  stars.  But 
you  must  go  home,  Svetko,  and  tell  Uncle  Bozhidar 
where  I  have  gone." 

And  fastening  the  letter  he  had  written  to  the 
pony's  saddle,  he  gave  Svetko  a  sharp  cut  with  his 
little  switch  and  told  him  to  go  home.  Svetko  did 
not  seem  to  know  quite  what  to  make  of  this  prder 
— never  before  had  his  little  master  behaved  so 
strangely  ;  but  he  had  been  so  trained  by  Colonel 
Lazaravitch  that  he  was  obedient  to  every  word  of 
command  he  understood,  and  after  looking  round 
two  or  three  times  to  see  if  his  master  really  meant 
what  he  said,  he  decided  that  obedience  was  the  right 
thing,  and  trotted  slowly  down  the  road  as  if  hoping 
to  be  called  back. 

Andrija  did  not  stop  to  see  him  go,  for  when  it 
came  to  the  point  he  felt  he  did  not  want  to  leave 
Svetko,  and  he  ran  into  the  station  and  spelt  out  the 
160 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

notices  inside  the  booking-office.  Andrija  did  not 
know  much  about  the  train  service,  but  he  was  in 
luck  that  day,  for  he  had  waited  hardly  ten  minutes 
when  the  train  for  Plana  came  in. 

Once  in  the  train  he  felt  very  excited  and  happy. 
The  compartment  was  empty  except  for  a  priest  who 
was  reading  a  book,  and  Andrija  sat  very  straight 
in  his  corner  and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the 
country-side.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  hungry  by 
this  time,  so  he  pulled  out  his  roll,  saved  from 
breakfast-time,  and  eating  with  it  some  of  the  dates 
with  which  he  had  provided  himself  he  made  a  hearty 
meal.  The  train  did  not  go  very  quickly,  and  it 
was  three  hours  before  Andrija,  who  had  watched 
the  names  of  the  stations  very  closely  as  they  passed 
them  by,  saw  '  Velika  Plana '  in  staring  white  letters 
written  up  over  the  booking-office.  He  was  in  such 
a  hurry  to  get  out  that  he  almost  tumbled  from  the 
high  step.  Picking  himself  up,  he  looked  round  the 
station  before  he  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do  next. 

Velika  Plana  Station  is  not  a  very  big  one,  but  it 
is  a  junction  where  the  trains  for  Belgrade  and  the 
north-west  of  Serbia  join  the  trains  for  the  south. 
Andrija's  father  was  somewhere  near  Mladenovats, 
which  is  a  good  many  miles  south  of  Plana,  but 
where  exactly  he  was  Andrija  did  not  know.  How- 
ever, he  was  not  a  small  boy  who  worried  very  much  ; 
he  took  things  as  they  came ;  and  at  all  events  he 
was  some  little  distance  nearer  to  his  journey's  end. 
It  was  very  hot  by  this  time,  and  the  sun  beat  fiercely 
down  on  the  white  dusty  road  outside  the  station. 
There  were  many  country  people  standing  about,  well 
L  161 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

laden  with  packages  and  baskets  of  fruit,  and  by 
degrees  they  straggled  away  from  the  station  in 
little  groups,  some  going  straight  down  the  long  level 
stretch  of  road  that  leads  through  the  town,  others 
stopping  to  drink  a  glass  of  the  fiery  plum  brandy 
before  they  went  on  their  way. 

Andrija  waited  till  almost  the  last  one  had  gone, 
then  he  crossed  the  road  and  sat  down  under  a  big 
tree  to  think  out  his  plans. 

"  That  must  be  the  way/'  he  said  to  himself, 
nodding  his  head  toward  the  main  road,  "for  I 
heard  that  old  woman  telling  the  boy  that  he  must 
not  loiter  so  or  they  would  never  get  to  Palanka, 
and  Palanka,  I  know,  comes  before  Mladenovats. 
But  how  many  kilometres  it  is  I  do  not  know,  and  it 
is  very  hot.  Still,  I  think  I  had  better  go  to  Palanka 
before  the  night  comes,  or  I  shall  never  see  the  road. 
I  wish  I  had  brought  Svetko.  I  do  not  like  these 
dull  roads  ;  they  will  take  me  so  long  to  walk." 
Andrija,  however,  still  sat  under  the  big  tree,  and 
as  the  sun  was  very  hot  and  the  road  very  empty, 
so  that  there  was  nothing  exciting  to  watch,  very 
soon  his  eyes  closed  and  his  head  began  to  nod  and  he 
fell  fast  asleep  in  the  shade.  When  he  woke  the  sun 
was  beginning  to  cast  long  shadows,  and  though  he 
could  not  tell  the  time  very  well,  he  knew  by  the 
empty  feeling  inside  him  that  it  must  be  late  after- 
noon. He  jumped  up  very  quickly-then,  and  began 
running  down  the  long  white  road.  He  was  beauti- 
fully rested  after  his  long  nap,  and  it  was  such  fun 
to  be  out  quite  by  himself  that  for  a  long  time  he 
forgot  to  be  hungry,  and  he  got  over  the  ground  at 
162 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

quite  a  good  pace  for  a  boy  of  eight.  Presently  the 
run  steadied  down  to  a  walk,  and  the  packet  of 
chocolate  had  to  come  out  to  fill  up  some  of  the  gap 
within  ;  but  he  did  not  sit  down  to  eat  it,  for,  as 
he  said  wisely  to  himself,  "  if  I  am  always  sitting 
down  to  rest  it  will  take  me  a  month  of  walking  to 
reach  Mladenovats,  and  then  maybe  my  father  will 
have  gone  to  France/' 

And  when  the  evening  began  to  draw  on  and  the 
sun  to  dip  lower  behind  the  hills,  he  was  obliged  to 
tell  himself  this  very  often  or  else  his  weary  little 
legs  would  not  have  carried  him  any  farther  !  Still 
Andrija  was  not  his  father's  son  for  nothing,  and 
though  by  the  time  it  grew  dark  he  was  woefully 
tired  and  there  was  no  sign  of  Palanka,  he  kept  a 
stiff  upper  lip  and  pretended  that  he  was  a  soldier 
marching  against  his  enemies.  All  the  same,  when 
the  last  bit  of  colour  had  gone  out  of  the  sky  and  the 
night  had  fallen  with  the  suddenness  that  it  does  in 
Serbia  (which  has  no  soft  twilight),  Andrija  began  to 
feel  just  a  little  forlorn.  He  was  really  very  hungry, 
and  bread  and  dates  even  coupled  with  delicious 
chocolate  are  not  altogether  satisfying  to  a  small 
person  who  is  used  to  two  good  cooked  meals  a  day. 
Also  it  was  really  very  lonely  out  there— he  did  not 
know  in  the  least  how  far  he  was  from  Palanka, 
and  there  was  not  even  the  sign  of  a  friendly  cottage 
on  the  way.  Earlier  in  the  afternoon  he  had  passed 
some  small  villages,  but  he  had  gone  quickly  through 
them,  and  now  he  was  quite  out  in  the  open  country. 
Andrija  was  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  dark,  but  he  did 
wish  there  was  somebody  near  to  talk  to,  and  now 

163 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

it  was  so  dark  that  he  could  scarcely  see  his  way 
along  the  road.  Soon  the  stars  would  light  their 
lamps  and  then  it  would  be  better.  "  I  think  I  must 
go  to  sleep  somewhere,"  he  said— but  under  his 
breath,  for  now  that  the  night  had  come  he  did  not 
like  to  hear  his  own  voice  very  much  in  the  quiet 
of  the  sleeping  country-side.  And  when  the  stars 
had  begun  to  show  he  picked  his  way  from  the  road 
itself  to  a  little  clump  of  oak-trees  under  which  last 
year's  leaves  still  lay  thickly.  It  was  very  warm  and 
the  leaves  were  quite  dry,  so  Andrija  with  a  little 
sigh  wriggled  down  into  their  thickness  until  they 
made  a  sort  of  feather  bed  for  him,  and  lay  for  a  long 
time,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  staring  up  at  the  wonderful 
sky.  A  star -lit  night  in  Serbia  is  very  beautiful. 
The  stars  there  shine  with  extraordinary  brilliancy, 
and  there  are  always  shooting  stars  darting  from  one 
part  of  the  heavens  to  the  other  or  flashing  down 
as  it  were  to  bury  themselves  in  the  earth.  The 
Serbs  believe  that  every  shooting  star  is  either  the 
soul  of  a  little  child  coming  to  live  on  earth,  or  else 
the  soul  of  a  dead  person  going  up  to  heaven,  and 
every  person  is  supposed  to  have  his  own  particular 
star  in  the  sky.  So  Andrija  watched  the  stars  with 
fascinated  eyes,  for  he  had  never  before  been  out  so 
late  in  the  whole  of  his  life,  and  therefore  he  had 
never  seen  all  the  sky's  beauty. 

Presently  the  moon  rose  too,  making  a  silver 
streak  along  the  road  and  casting  tall  shadows 
from  the  oak-trees  under  which  he  lay.  It  was 
really  quite  difficult  to  go  to  sleep  with  all  these 
beautiful  things  to  watch.  Away  in  the  distance, 
164 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

too,  where  there  must  have  been  some  marshy  land, 
Andrija  could  see  the  fire-flies  flitting.  Near  at  hand  J 
the  glow-worms  lit  their  lamps  and  the  cheerful 
croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the  little  trickling  rivulet 
beyond  the  belt  of  trees  made  a  sort  of  companion- 
able music  for  him,  so  that  he  no  longer  felt  lonely 
or  the  least  bit  afraid,  and  presently  he  was  just  as 
soundly  sleeping  as  if  he  had  been  in  his  own  bed  at 
the  Villa  Golub. 

But  in  his  uncle's  house  was  a  great  hue  and  cry  ! 
When  Svetko  got  home  he  walked  straight  into  his 
own  stable,  and  it  was  some  hours  before  the  letter 
which  Andrija  had  written  was  found  and  taken  to 
the  Villa  Golub.  How  Aunt  Olga  raged  and  Uncle 
Bozhidar  scolded  !  Yet  it  was  more  from  worry 
than  from  crossness,  for  indeed  they  were  both  very 
anxious  about  the  boy.  Where  he  could  have  gone 
and  how  they  could  not  understand,  for  it  never 
occurred  to  either  of  them  to  think  that  Andrija 
had  simply  ridden  to  the  station  and  left  by  the  next 
train,  and  of  course  Svetko  could  not  speak.  Uncle 
Bozhidar  sent  people  off  in  every  direction,  thinking 
that  a  small  boy  of  eight  could  not  walk  very  far 
without  being  seen,  but  no  one  knew  the  way  the 
boy  had  gone,  and  though  several  people  had  seen 
him  riding  through  the  town,  it  so  happened  that 
no  one  had  actually  noticed  his  taking  the  turning 
for  Ossipaonitsa. 

So  while  all  that  evening  they  searched  in  vain, 
and  both  Uncle  Bozhidar  and  Aunt  Olga  spent  an 
anxious,  sleepless  night,  Andrija  was  calmly  sleeping 
under  the  stars,  and  the  next  day  when  they  were 

165 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

vainly  continuing  their  search  he  was  well  on  his 
way  (but  oh  !  such  a  hungry  boy  was  Andrija  !) 
toward  Palanka. 

At  the  first  village  he  came  to  he  made  for  the 
nearest  house  in  search  of  breakfast.  And  what  a 
puzzle  he  was  to  the  good  woman  who  let  him  share 
her  children's  slices  of  maize  bread  and  slabs  of 
goat's  cheese,  washed  down  with  warm  milk  !  Of 
course  she  wanted  to  know  all  about  him— who  he 
was  and  where  he  had  come  from  and  where  he  was 
going ;  and  the  more  she  heard  the  more  puzzled 
she  was  !  Andrija  could  only  tell  her  that  he  was 
going  to  see  his  father,  and  that  his  father  was  with 
his  soldiers  somewhere  near  Mladenovats— but  more 
than  that  he  could  not  tell  her,  for  he  himself  really 
did  not  know  ! 

The  good  peasant  woman  shook  her  head  over 
his  tale.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  a  boy  dressed  in 
such  good  clothes  as  Andrija  wore  ought  not  to  be 
wandering  about  the  country  by  himself.  Andrija, 
of  course,  knew  better  than  to  offer  her  money  for 
his  breakfast— no  Serb  peasant,  however  poor,  would 
dream  of  taking  money  from  a  traveller ;  but  when 
she  pressed  eggs  ready  boiled  and  a  slab  of  maize 
bread  into  his  pockets  he  pulled  his  treasured  knife 
out  of  his  little  case  and  thrust  it  into  the  hands 
of  her  small  son,  running  off  at  top  speed  after- 
ward as  if  he  were  afraid  she  would  make  him  take 
it  back. 

It  was  hard  to  part  with  that  beautiful  knife- 
but  what  was  he  to  do  ?  For  Andrija  had  been  well 
drilled  by  his  father  in  good  manners,  and  he  had, 
166 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

moreover,  generous  instincts  like  every  Serb,  who 
would  rather  share  his  last  bit  of  crust  with  you  than 
see  you  go  hungry,  and  who  would  really  prefer 
to  see  you  eat  it  all  up  by  yourself  while  he  .sat 
fasting  ! 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  the  way  to  Palanka, 
for  the  road  ran  practically  straight,  and  by  five 
o'clock  of  the  second  day  of  his  wanderings  Andrija 
had  reached  the  little  town  and  his  tired  feet  were 
tramping  over  the  cobble-stones  of  its  narrow  streets. 

So  far  so  good,  but  he  was  now  very  weary  and  he 
did  not  want  to  go  away  from  Palanka  till  the  day- 
light came.  But  where  was  he  to  go  and  how  should 
he  find  a  bed  to  sleep  in  ?  For  a  little  time  he 
wandered  up  and  down,  looking  at  the  shops  and 
wishing  his  father  were  there  instead  of  in  far-away 
Mladenovats,  and  for  the  first  time  he  began  to  think 
regretfully  of  the  Villa  Golub.  A  stray  tear  trickled 
down  his  cheek,  and  that  brought  Andrija  up  with 
a  jerk. 

"  Surely  I  am  not  a  baby/'  he  said  to  himself, 
"  a  tiny  baby  who  cries  if  it  is  hurt  ?  I  am  a  big 
boy,  and  big  boys  do  not  cry— I  am  going  to  my 
father,  and  soon  I  shall  be  there  !  Perhaps  it  will 
take  me  two  more  days,  or  maybe  three,  but  I  do 
not  care.  I  shall  still  be  there  in  time.  And  to- 
morrow night  I  shall  sleep  away  from  a  town— it  is 
too  lonely  here.  I  wonder  why  it  is  more  lonely 
with  so  many  people  than  in  the  fields  and  the  woods 
where  no  one  comes  ?  That  is  very  funny/'  Andrija 
had  a  habit  of  thinking  out  loud,  as  many  children 
have  who  are  accustomed  to  play  by  themselves  a 

167 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

good  deal,  and  his  words  attracted  the  attention  of 
an  old  jeweller,  who  was  sitting  by  -his  open  shop 
door  before  a  little  table  strewn  with  his  tools,  so 
that  while  he  was  busy  with  his  work  he  might  get 
a  breath  of  the  cool  evening  air. 

Andrija  had  been  leaning  against  the  window 
several  minutes,  staring  into  the  shop  as  he  was 
thinking  aloud,  but  not  seeing  anything  or  anyone 
all  the  same.  But  the  old  man  had  been  watching 
him  nevertheless,  and  now  he  looked  up  and  smiled 
rather  pleasantly  at  the  boy. 

"  Would  you  like  to  buy  one  of  my  little  chains  ?  " 
he  said,  holding  up  as  he  spoke  a  fine  silver  watch- 
chain  which  he  had  been  mending.  "  They  are 
very  cheap,  and  would  suit  a  little  gentleman  like 
yourself/' 

Andrija  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  not  enough 
money/'  he  said  ;  "  I  have  only  six  dinara  left,  and 
those  I  want  to  pay  for  my  food,  because  I  am 
walking  a  long  way/' 

The  old  jeweller  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  You  do  not  live  in  Palanka/'  he  said,  "for  I 
have  never  seen  you  before,  and  I  know  all  the  boys 
and  girls  in  this  town — they  all  come  to  my  shop  to 
see  me  mend  my  watches/' 

Andrija  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  live — or  I  used 
to  live  with  my  father  in  Belgrade,  but  now  it  is 
with  Aunt  Olga  in  Posharevats— and  I  am  going  to 
see  my  father,  so  that  is  how  I  am  in  Palanka." 

"  So  your  father  is  in  Palanka,"  said  the  old  man 
in  rather  a  relieved  tone.     "  I  see,  you  are  going 
home  now." 
168 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

Andrija  frowned  and  sighed  rather  impatiently. 
How  stupid  grown-up  people  were  at  times  !  One 
had  to  explain  the  simplest  things  to  them  in  half 
a  dozen  ways  before  they  understood.  Still  he  could 
see  the  old  jeweller  meant  to  be  kind,  for  he  spoke 
in  a  friendly  way,  so  Andrija  answered  as  politely 
as  his  very  tired  little  body  would  let  him. 

"No,"  he  explained  patiently,  "my  father  is  a 
colonel,  so  he  has  to  be  with  the  regiment,  which  is 
at  Mladenovats,  but  soon  he  is  going  to  France  on 
a  mission  for  the  King,  so  I  had  to  go  and  see  him. 
Uncle  Bozhidar  could  not  take  me,  so  I  am  going 
alone." 

"  Alone  ?  "  echoed  the  old  man,  "  from  Posharevats 
to  Mladenovats  ?  Why,  that  is  a  great  journey,  and 
now  you  are  scarcely  more  than  half  your  way." 

Andrija's  eyes  filled  with  tears  despite  all  his 
efforts.  He  was  so  tired,  and  he  had  thought  that 
now  he  was  at  Palanka  the  worst  of  the  journey  was 
over.  How  ever  could  he  get  to  his  father  before  he 
went  to  France  if  it  was  going  to  take  all  that  time 
to  walk  ? 

The  old  jeweller  saw  his  trouble,  but  he  pretended 
not  to  see  the  tears,  and  going  on  with  his  work  and 
not  looking  up  at  Andrija  at  all  he  said  at  last  very 
gently  : .  "  Suppose  you  stop  the  night  here  with  me, 
since  you  are  not  going  anywhere  else  ?  No  ?  ' 
he  asked,  looking  this  time  at  the  boy,  who  shook 
his  head. 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  anyone's  house,"  he  got  out. 

"  Then  all  is  well,"  said  old  Boris  Boyovitch,  the 
jeweller.  "  Here  is  my  little  house  behind  my  shop, 

169 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

and  we  will  have  supper  together,  and  afterward 
you  shall  sleep,  for  indeed  you  must  be  very  tired. 
It  is  not  every  one's  son  who  would  walk  so  far  to 
see  his  father." 

And  certainly  Andrija  was  far  too  tired  to  argue, 
so  when  the  jeweller  began  to  shut  up  his  shop  he 
followed  him  inside  without  a  word  and  sat  down  on 
a  wooden  chair  in  the  inner  room  while  his  host 
bustled  about  making  his  frugal  supper  ready. 

Andrija  was  so  hungry  that  even  dry  bread  would 
have  been  welcome,  but  Boris  Boyovitch  gave  him 
delicious  onion  soup,  and  afterward  some  fine  sweet 
cakes  made  of  honey ;  and  the  boy  was  more  than 
ready,  when  once  his  hunger  was  satisfied,  to  curl 
himself  up  on  the  little  bed  that  his  kind  old  host 
made  ready  for  him  beside  his  own.  Boris  covered 
him  up  with  his  old  military  cloak,  and  Andrija  was 
soon  fast  asleep,  too  tired  even  to  think  about  his 
father.  He  slept  for  a  couple  of  hours  without  even 
stirring,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  sound  of 
voices  wakened  him.  He  did  not  open  his  eyes,  but 
lay  drowsily  listening  to  the  hum  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  what  was  being  said,  until  a  remark  of 
Boyovitch's  made  him  as  wide  awake  as  if  he  had 
never  thought  of  sleep. 

"  Yes,"  the  old  man  was  saying  to  one  of  the  two 
younger  men  who  were  sitting  with  him  round  the 
stove,  "  they  will  indeed  be  distressed  when  they 
find  he  has  gone.  Before  he  slept  he  spoke  his 
father's  name,  and  it  is  none  other  than  the  son  of 
Dushan  Lazaravitch  himself.  It  has  troubled  me 
much  as  to  what  I  should  do." 
170 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do,"  said  one  of  the 
men  in  a  decided  voice.  "  Word  must  be  sent  to  the 
father  that  he  is  here,  and  the  boy  must  be  kept  till 
his  father  comes.  Harm  may  befall  him  if  he  goes 
wandering  up  and  down  the  country/' 

"  I  do  not  think  that  a  wise  thing  to  do,"  said 
the  other  visitor.  "  Rather  the  boy  should  be  sent 
back  to  Posharevats — like  enough  they  are  beating 
the  country  for  him.  We  are  not  certain  where 
Dushan  Lazaravitch  is  nor  if  this  be  indeed  his  son. 
It  would  be  a  pretty  wild-goose  chase  to  bring  a 
man  fifty  miles  out  of  his  way  to  the  wrong  child — 
nice  fools  we  should  look,  and  good  thanks  get  for 
our  pains." 

Old  Boris  Boyovitch  nodded  his  head.  "  I  am  in 
agreement  with  you,  neighbour,"  he  said  to  the  last 
speaker.  "  I  believe  it  would  be  better  first  to  find 
out  exactly  who  the  uncle  is  who  has  charge  of  the 
little  lad,  and  then  either  to  take  the  boy  to  the 
train  and  send  him  back,  or  bid  the  uncle  come  to 
Palanka  and  take  him  home." 

' '  And  what  will  you  do  with  him  in  the  meantime  ?  " 
asked  the  younger  man. 

"  Why,  he  must  stay  with  me  and  be  as  contented 
as  he  can,"  said  the  jeweller.  "  I  am  a  poor  man 
and  it  is  not  much  that  I  can  give  him,  but  it  will 
be  better  than  he  could  get  wandering  the  country- 
side. But-  I  am  sure  you  are  right,  and  he  must 
be  sent  back  under  safe  care— it  will  be  better 
by  far." 

Andrija  lay  on  his  pile  of  rugs,  his  heart  beating  as 
though  he  were  going  to  suffocate.  He  did  not  dare 

171 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

to  move  or  speak.  So  they  were  going  to  keep  him 
there  till  Uncle  Bozhidar  could  come — and  he  would 
never  be  allowed  to  see  his  father— perhaps  even  now 
he  would  be  too  late.  He  clenched  his  fists  under  the 
old  greatcoat  that  he  might  not  scream  out.  What 
should  he  do  ?  How  should  he  get  away  ?  Would 
old  Boyovitch  try  to  keep  him  if  he  told  him  how 
badly,  how  terribly  badly,  he  wanted  to  get  to  his 
father  ?  Poor  Andrija !  He  lay  there  for  what 
seemed  like  an  eternity,  one  little  plan  after  another 
coming  into  his  small  brain,  and  he  thought  that 
never,  never  would  the  strangers  go  away.  Pres- 
ently, however,  they  got  up  and  said  good-night, 
and  old  Boyovitch,  bolting  the  clumsy  door  after 
them,  by  and  by  blew  out  the  lamp  and,  treading 
very  softly,  so  that  he  might  not  disturb  the  appar- 
ently sleeping  child,  crept  into  bed. 

Andrija  lay  wide  awake,  however,  staring  into  the 
darkness  and  trying  to  decide  what  to  do.  "  Shall 
I  get  up  and  try  to  unbolt  the  door  ?  "  he  thought. 
"  No,  that  won't  do.  I  should  fall  over  something, 
or  upset  that  table  with  the  little  tools  on  and  they 
would  make  a  noise.  Besides,  I  do  not  think  I  could 
unfasten  those  big  bolts— his  hands  are  much  bigger 
than  mine  and  he  had  to  take  two  hands  to  fasten  the 
lower  one.  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  If  I  go  to  sleep 
now  it  will  be  daylight  before  I  get  up,  and  then  he 
will  make  me  stay  with  him.  Oh,  I  am  so  sleepy  I 
shall  never  keep  awake,  and  I  must  think  of  some- 
thing !  " 

But,  struggle  as  he  might  to  keep  awake,  the 
thoughts  that  chased  each  other  like  so  many  squirrels 
172 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

through  Andrija's  brain  soon  became  foggier  and 
foggier,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  he  was  soon  fast 
asleep  again  by  the  side  of  the  unconscious  Boyovitch. 

Andrija  was  a  healthy  boy,  he  had  been  out  in  the 
open  air  all  day  walking  hard,  and  sleep  was  his 
master,  little  as  he  wanted  it  to  be.  So  that  it  was 
five  o'clock  and  broad  daylight  before  he  opened  his 
eyes  again,  and  when  he  did  it  was  to  see  old  Boyo- 
vitch bending  over  him,  a  cup  of  steaming  coffee  in 
his  hand  and  a  beaming  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Ah  !  you  have  slept  better  in  my  little  house 
than  you  thought,  eh,  little  Gospodin?"  laughed 
the  old  man.  Andrija  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 
Where  was  he  ?  Then  he  remembered,  stood  up,  and 
said  good-morning  very  politely  before  he  took  the 
cup  of  coffee  from  the  kind  old  man's  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Gospodin  Boyovitch,"  he  said; 
"  and  when  I  have  eaten  my  bread  I  will  say  Zbogom 
to  you,  for  I  must  go  a  long  way  to-day/' 

Old  Boyovitch  cleared  his  throat  in  an  embarrassed 
sort  of  way.  "  Do  not  be  in  so  great  a  hurry,  little 
one,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  like  to  think  that  you  are 
leaving  me  so  soon.  It  is  not  fit,  moreover,  that 
Dushan  Lazaravitch's  son-— if  indeed  you  are  he- 
should  be  wandering  the  roads  like  a  gipsy  lad. 
He  would  not  be  pleased ;  for  I  am  certain  you  have 
not  told  him  that  you  are  coming  to  him/' 

Andrija  threw  back  his  head  rather  proudly  at  this. 
"  That  is  for  my  father  to  say,"  he  said.  "  But  you 
do  not  understand.  I  must  go,  and  go  to-day/' 

Old  Boyovitch  scratched  his  bald  head.  Here 
was  a  problem.  How  was  he  to  keep  the  boy  with 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

him  till  word  could  be  sent  to  the  uncle  ? —whose 
other  name  indeed  he  did  not  know  yet ! 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  see,"  he  said  at  last;  "  but 
meanwhile  you  shall  guard  the  shop  for  me  while  I 
go  to  market,  and  if  anyone  comes  you  can  tell  them 
I  will  be  back  soon." 

This  was  an  awkward  corner  for  Andrija  !  He 
could  not  leave  the  shop  to  take  care  of  itself  when 
the  old  jeweller  had  trusted  him,  for  he  knew  that 
would  be  a  thing  his  father  would  never  forgive,  yet 
how  was  he  going  to  get  away  ?  And  when  old  Boris 
Boyovitch,  smiling  to  himself  at  the  thought  of  his 
own  cleverness,  had  gone  down  the  street,  his  big 
basket  on  his  arm,  Andrija  sat  on  the  floor,  a  very 
puzzled  and  bewildered  little  boy  indeed. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
must  just  wait  until  he  is  busy  with  something  else, 
and  then  I  must  run.  If  I  don't  he  will  keep  me  here 
all  the  time  until  Uncle  Bozhidar  comes,  and  then  I 
shall  never  see  my  father." 

Boris  did  his  shopping  very  quickly.  He  looked 
rather  sharply  round  as  he  came  back  into  the  shop, 
almost  as  if  he  expected  to  see  no  little  boy  there, 
and  he  seemed  much  relieved  when  Andrija  politely 
got  up  from  his  little  wooden  chair. 

'  There  is  a  good  and  careful  boy,"  he  said  approv- 
ingly ;  "  and  nobody  has  been  ?  ' 

"  No,  Gospodin  Boyovitch,"  answered  the  boy. 
r<  I  just  waited  here,  but  every  one  has  gone  to 
market  like  you  with  their  big  baskets." 

'  That  is  good  ;  and  now  I  will  put  away  the  things 
I  have  bought,"  said  Boris  ;  "  afterward  I  will  show 
174 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

you  the  works  of  these  watches  that  I  have  been 
given  to  mend,  and  you  shall  see  how  I  make  the  old 
ones  like  new/' 

Now  at  any  other  time  this  would  have  been  a 
great  treat  for  Andrija,  for  the  old  watchmaker  was 
as  good  as  his  word  and  showed  the  boy  all  his 
treasures  and  explained  very  carefully  how  he  did 
his  work.     But  Andrija  was  in  such  a  fever  of  im- 
patience to  continue  his  journey  that  I  am  afraid 
much  of  the  old  man's  explanation  simply  went  in 
at  one  ear  and  out  again  at  the  other  !     Dinner-time 
came  and  they  ate  together  in  the  inner  room,  and 
then— oh,  joy  !— Boyovitch's  eyes  closed  and  he  began 
to  nod  in  his  chair  1     It  was  very  hot  that  day,  and 
even  in  the  little  dark  house  the  heat  was  intense. 
Andrija   waited    breathless!}/    till    he    was    quite 
certain  that  the  old  man  was  really  sleeping,  then  he 
noiselessly  kicked  off  his  shoes,  and  tiptoeing  cau- 
tiousty  across  the  floor,  he  reached  the  shop  without 
a  sound.     Then  he  wondered  how  he  should  show 
the  old  man,  who  had  really  been  very  kind  to  him, 
that  he  had  only  gone  away  like  that  because  he  had 
to  go  to  find  his  father.     "  If  there  was  time  I  would 
write  a  letter,"  he  thought,  "  but  I  cannot  stop,  and 
it  takes  me  quite  a  long  time  to  write  nicely.     I  will 
leave  him  my  little  picture,  because  that  is  the  thing 
I  like  best,  and  I  only  have  dinars  beside."     And 
though  it  went  to  his  heart  to  give  up  his  little  ikon 
with  the  picture  of  St  John,  his  patron  saint,  painted 
on  the  gold  in  beautiful  colours,  yet  his  early  training 
held  good,  and  with  a  sigh  he  unfastened  the  little 
gold  chain  and  laid  the  picture  face  downward  so 

175 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

that  he  might  not  see  St  John's  kind  eyes  looking 
up  at  him  reproachfully  for  giving  him  away. 

Then  just  as  noiselessly  he  ran  out  of  the  shop 
and  down  the  street.  It  was  the  hour  when  Palanka 
was  wrapped  in  slumber,  and  there  was  no  one  to 
look  at  the  funny  little  figure  in  its  sailor  suit  and 
stockinged  feet  flying  down  the  road  at  breakneck 
speed.  Every  one  was  asleep  in  his  house,  or  within, 
the  shade  of  his  shop — even  the  dogs  were  at  rest, 
lying  under  the  shelter  of  the  trees  in  the  square  by 
the  fountain,  their  tongues  hanging  out  and  their 
tails  lazily  waving  from  time  to  time  to  keep  the 
flies  away.  On  and  on  Andrija  ran  till  he  was  clear 
of  the  town  and  safe  from  pursuit,  till  he  was  so 
hot  that  he  was  forced  to  throw  himself  down  on  a 
friendly  stretch  of  shady  roadside  grass  and  lie  like 
any  little  puppy  panting  for  breath  !  The  fact  that 
he  had  taken  quite  the  wrong  way  through  the  town 
did  not  occur  to  him  ;  indeed  he  was  so  pleased  with 
himself  for  getting  away  from  old  Boyovitch  that  he 
never  thought  at  all  about  the  road  he  was  on  ! 

So  he  tramped  along  sturdily,  singing  to  himself, 
and  once  again  the  night  came  down  and  a  supper- 
less  little  boy  slept  under  the  stars.  That  was  all 
very  well,  but  before  the  dawn  the  rain  came  down, 
and  it  was  a  very  wet  Andrija  that  took  the  road 
again  that  morning — very  wet  and  very  empty.  He 
still  had  five  dinars,  but  what  use  were  they  when 
the  kilometres  lengthened  out  before  him  and  there 
was  never  a  sign  to  be  seen  of  town  or  village,  or 
even  of  a  solitary  cottage  where  he  might  seek  his 
breakfast  ? 
176 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  started  out  on  his 
quest  Andrija's  stout  little  heart  utterly  failed  him. 
"  It  is  the  longest  road  I  have  ever  seen/'  he  said  as 
he  tramped  along,  the  water  trickling  from  his  sodden 
sailor  hat  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  "  And  oh, 
how  my  legs  ache  !  I  think  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  walk  all  this  day,  and  still  I  do  not  think  I  am 
near  Mladenovats.  I  shall  ask  when  I  see  a  house/' 
And  on  he  tramped  till,  at  last — oh,  joyous  sight  !— 
there  was  a  solitary  wooden  house,  quite  a  tiny  one, 
with  a  disconsolate  goat  browsing  in  the  wet  patch 
of  garden  that  lay  round  it.  He  went  up  to  the  door 
and  called  out  in  his  clear  boy's  treble  :  "  Is  there 
anyone  at  home  ?  Can  I  enter  ?  "  but  there  was  no 
answer.  Pushing  the  door  open,  he  was  just  about 
to  go  inside  when  a  big,  evil-looking  dog  came 
silently  round  the  corner  and  began  to  bark 
furiously.  With  that  a  sullen-looking  man  limped 
round  from  the  back  of  the  house.  He  was  very 
lame  and  had  an  angry  voice. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  '  he  asked  gruffly— very 
much  to  Andrija's  surprise,  for  nearly  every  one  in 
Serbia  is  kind  to  a  traveller  and  very  few  people 
would  speak  angrily  to  a  child. 

"  I  want  the  road  to  Mladenovats/'  answered 
Andrija,  boldly  enough,  however,  "and  I  would  like 
some  breakfast ;  I  am  very  hungry." 

"  This  is  not  the  road  to  Mladenovats/'  said  the  man, 
as  crossly  as  before  ;  "  you  are  two  hours  and  more 
out  of  your  way — you  should  have  turned  by  the  forked 
trees.  And  as  for  food,  there  is  not  much  in  the 
house,  for  I  am  going  out  of  it  to-morrow  to  Palanka." 
M  177 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  I  have  some  money  ;  I  can  pay  for  it,"  said 
Andrija.  If  he  had  known,  this  was  a  foolish  thing 
to  say,  for  every  one  for  miles  around  Palanka  knew 
Milosh,  the  crazy  miser,  and  as  he  heard  the  word 
'  money  '  his  eyes  glittered. 

"Oh,  that  is  a  different  tale,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  am  very  poor,  and  you  see  I  am  lame,  but 
I  will  sell  you  some  cheese  and  bread  and  some 
goat's  milk.  And  what  are  you  doing  on  the  roads 
alone  ?  " 

Andrija's  heart  went  down  into  his  boots.  It  was 
bad  enough  to  know  that  he  was  whole  kilometres 
out  of  his  way,  but  now  there  was  this  other  person 
worrying  about  him. 

"  I  am  going  to  Mladenovats  to  find  my  father," 
he  answered,  "  and  I  am  in  a  hurry.  Give  me,  please, 
the  food,  and  I  will  pay  for  it  and  go." 

"  Not  so  fast,  little  master  !  "  sneered  the  lame 
man.  "  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  some  more  questions 
first,  and  you  will  go  when  I  think  it  is  time,  or  my 
dog  here  will  have  something  to  say— he  does  not 
like  strangers,  as  you  can  tell  by  his  growl." 

Andrija  had  to  sit  down  on  the  bench  outside  the 
hut,  for  the  man  shut  the  door  after  him  when  he 
went  in  to  fetch  the  bread  and  cheese,  and  it  seemed 
a  long  time  before  the  goat  was  milked  and  he  could 
eat  the  simple  meal  put  before  him.  While  he  ate  the 
dog  sat  in  front  of  him  with  a  wicked  look  in  the  corner 
of  its  wolfish  eyes.  Andrija  was  not  afraid  of  dogs 
as  a  rule,  but  this  one  stubbornly  refused  to  make 
friends.  When  he  had  eaten  his  breakfast  he  got 
up  to  go,  and  pulled  out  his  little  purse  to  pay  the 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

lame  man— and  perhaps  out  of  a  hundred  people  in 
the  country  parts  of  Serbia  you  would  find  just  one 
who  would  let  you  pay  for  a  meal,  even  if  you  were 
quite  a  stranger  to  them. 

The  lame  man  looked  at  the  purse  with  greedy  eyes. 
Andrija  held  up  two  dinars.  "  Is  that  enough  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  did  not  eat  very  much  bread,  and  if  I  give 
you  more  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  any  dinner/' 

The  lame  man  shook  his  head.  "  No/'  he  said; 
'  I  must  have  all  that  is  in  your  purse,  and  in 
return  I  will  tell  you  a  short  way  to  the  Mladenovats 
road." 

Andrija  was  very  indignant.  "  I  cannot  give  you 
all  my  money/'  he  said.  "  I  will  give  you  three, 
though  it  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  two  I  must 
keep.  I  think  you  are  a  bad  man." 

The  lame  man  held  out  his  hand,  with  a  queer 
smile  on  his  face.  "  Very  well,  give  me  the  three," 
he  said  ;  "  and  now  go  straight  up  the  road  till  you 
find  a  place  where  four  paths  join.  Take  the  one  to 
the  left  and  you  will  come  to  the  big  road  that  goes 
to  Mladenovats,  but  it  is  still  a  good  two  days  from 
here." 

Andrija  did  not  listen  much  even  to  this,  he  was 
in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  this  man,  and  put- 
ting down  the  three  dinars  on  the  bench  he  walked 
as  quickly  as  he  could  down  the  road.  He  had  not 
gone  a  hundred  yards,  however,  before  he  heard  a 
soft  pattering  behind  him.  Rather  scared,  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder.  There  at  his  heels  was  the  wolfish 
dog.  Andrija  was  terrified,  but  the  dog  without  mak- 
ing a  sound  set  its  teeth  in  his  trousers  and  began, 

179 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

quite  gently,  to  tug  him  backward.  He  did  not  hurt 
Andrija  at  all,  but  it  was  no  use  trying  to  get  away, 
and  it  was  very  easy  to  understand  that  the  dog 
meant  him  to  go  back  to  the  hut,  where  the  lame 
man  still  stood  in  the  rain  watching  them  both  with 
a  grin  on  his  ugly  face.  It  was  all  Andrija  could  do 
not  to  scream,  for  he  was  really  terrified  now.  What 
was  the  lame  man  going  to  do  ?— would  he  tell  the 
dog  to  bite  him  ?  Oh,  how  miserable  he  was,  and 
how  he  longed  for  his  father  !  But  when  the  dog 
had  half  led,  half  dragged  him  to  the  garden  gate, 
the  lame  man  only  laughed  again. 

"  So,  my  little  master !  Not  so  fast  !  I  have 
taught  you  a  little  lesson,  I  think.  Another  time  old 
Milosh  bids  a  little  boy  do  as  he  is  told  perhaps  he 
will  be  more  obedient.  Give  me  the  money— that 
is  all  I  want.  I  have  had  my  pleasure  out  of  you. 
Now  you  will  know  that  I  meant  what  I  said.  Quick 
—hand  it  over,  and  my  dog  shall  let  you  go.  He 
always  does  just  as  I  tell  him." 

Andrija  ptilled  out  his  purse  and  threw  it  down  ; 
then  in  spite  of  himself  he  began  to  sob. 

"  You  bad,  bad  man  !  "  he  cried.  "  Now  I  have  not 
anything  at  all,  and  I  shall  perhaps  die  of  hunger  !  " 

But  the  lame  man  only  laughed  the  more,  and 
calling  his  dog  to  him  he  went  into  the  house  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him  with  a  clatter.  Andrija 
heard  him  still  laughing  as  he  stood  sobbing  in  the 
rain ;  then,  realizing  that  he  was  free,  he  raced  out 
of  the  garden  and  along  the  road,  stopping  every  now 
and  then  to  look  over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure  that 
the  dog  was  not  coming  after  him.  But  the  road 
180 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

was  quite  empty  ;  and  soon  the  rain  stopped  and  the 
sun  began  to  shine.     On  went  little  weary  Andrija, 
stumbling  with  fatigue,  till  at  midday  he  saw  before 
him  the  streets  of  a  small  town,  the  name  of  which 
he  did  not  know.     He  was  too  tired  even  to  think 
about  dinner,  and  finding  a  shady  corner  near  the 
little  church  he  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass 
and  went  to  sleep.     He  woke  refreshed,  but  rather 
desperate,  for  his  father  seemed  as  far  off  as  ever,  and 
if  what  the  lame  man  had  said  was  true,  who  could 
he  ever  walk  another  two  days  ?     Already  his  brown 
feet  were  blistered  and  sore.     There  was  little  to  dis- 
tinguish him  now  from  any  ragged  townsboy,  for  his 
suit  was  stained  and  torn,  his  hat  was  a  pulp  from 
the  morning's  rain,  he  had  left  his  boots  in  Palanka, 
and   altogether  he   looked  as  disreputable   a   little 
object  as  could  be  imagined.     Nevertheless  he  was 
still  undismayed,   and   after   persuading   a  fat   old 
market  woman  to  give  him  some  bread  and  apples, 
he  prepared  to  take  the  road  again.     But  Fate,  in  the 
shape   of  a  stray  puppy,  .prevented  him.     Serbians 
are  not,  generally  speaking,  very  fond  of  dogs  :  they 
keep  them  to  guard  their  sheep  and  prevent  the  cattle 
from  straying,  but  they  rarely  make  household  pets 
of   them,   much  preferring  cats  to  the  prettiest  of 
puppies.     This  one  which  Andrija  saw  had  evidently 
been  lost,  and  three  urchins  were  engaged  in  teasing 
and  tormenting  the  poor  little  beast,  which  had  a 
tin  can  tied  to  its  tail  and  was  vainly  trying  to  break 
away  from  its  persecutors  and  rid  itself  of  the  hated 
thing.     Now  Andrija,  like  his  French  mother,  adored 
dogs,  and  at  the  sight  of  this  his  fighting  blood  was 

181 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

up.  The  boys  were  bigger  than  he  was,  but  he  did 
not  stop  to  think  about  that  small  matter,  and  going 
up  to  the  group  he  pushed  his  way  forward  to  the 
dog  and  began  to  unfasten  the  tin  can. 

"Leave  the  dog  alone ! "  cried  the  biggest  of  the 
three  boys.  "  He  isn't  yours—leave  him  alone,  I 
say." 

"  Put  that  down,"  cried  another,  "  or  I'll  make 
you  !  " 

Andrija  grabbed  the  dog  more  tightly  to  him. 
"  You  sha'n't  touch  him,"  he  cried.  "  He  isn't 
your  dog  and  he  isn't  mine,  but  if  he  hasn't  got  a 
home  /  shall  have  him." 

The  boys  looked  at  him  threateningly.  "  You'll 
have  to  fight  for  him,"  they  shouted,  furious  because 
their  amusement  was  being  interfered  with  by  this 
urchin  in  his  sailor  clothes,  at  which  they  jeered  and 
pointed. 

"I'll  fight  you"  Andrija  said,  pointing  to  the 
middle  one  of  the  three,  "  but  I  can't  fight  the  big 
one." 

"  Oh,  baby,  can't  you  ?  "  jeered  the  three  together, 
and  one  of  them  made  a  grab  at  the  dog,  free  by  now 
of  his  can.  Andrija,  although  a  sturdy  youngster  for 
his  eight  years,  was  no  match  for  the  three,  all 
of  whom  were  older  than  himself,  but  at  this  new 
attempt  to  get  at  the  poor  puppy  he  '  saw  red ' 
and  made  for  the  nearest  one  like  a  little  fury. 
Soon  a  glorious  fight  was  in  progress  and  all  four 
were  mixed  up  together  in  a  tangle  of  arms  and 
legs.  Before  long,  however,  poor  Andrija  was  very 
obviously  getting  the  worst  of  it.  Still  he  held  on 
182 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

manfully,  though  his  face  was  bruised  and  bleeding, 
his  breath  was  coming  in  little  spurts,  and  he  could 
hardly  see. 

In  another  minute  he  would  have  been  down  for 
good— already  he  had  had  two  falls,  but  had  picked 
himself  up  and  started  in  again.  Now,  however, 
he  was  almost  done,  when  suddenly  a  tall  figure 
loomed  down  on  the  little  group  and  a  strong  hand 
picked  the  biggest  boy  up  by  his  collar  and  shook 
him  like  a  rat. 

'  What  are  you  lads  doing  ?  "  asked  a  stern  voice. 
"  And  aren't  you  ashamed  to  be  fighting  like  this, 
one  against  three  ?  Whatever  your  quarrel  is,  I  am 
surprised  to  see  Serbian  boys  behaving  like  cowards." 

Between  his  puffings  and  pan  tings  Andrija  could 
hardly  distinguish  the  voice  that  was  speaking,  much 
less  make  any  answer  ;  then  the  look  of  utter  amaze- 
ment on  the  tall  officer's  face  suddenly  showed  him 
who  it  was. 

With  a  yell  of  "  Pepitch  !  "  he  disentangled  himself 
from  the  embrace  of  his  smallest  antagonist  and 
hurled  his  muddy  person  against  the  smart  tunic 
of  the  young  flying  man. 

"  Good  heavens,  Andrija  !  what  in  the  name  of 
fortune  has  brought  you  here  ?  And,  boy,  for  any 
sake  keep  off  my  tunic  !  Do  you  imagine  I  have 
money  enough  to  buy  a  new  one  every  day  ?  ' 
Pepitch  was  so  utterly  amazed  that  for  once  he 
forgot  to  smile,  and  poor  Andrija  fell  from  rapture 
to  dismay.  He  gulped  down  a  sob  as  he  answered : 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  muddied  you,  Lieutenant  Pepitch, 
but  I  had  to  fight  for  my  puppy.  You  must  save 

183 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

him  for  me— please,  please  don't  let  them  take  him 
away !— he  doesn't  belong  to  them,  and  he  is  mine 


now/' 


Pepitch  looked  still  more  puzzled,  and  he  stooped 
and  picked  the  little  mongrel  up  gingerly. 

"  You  shall  have  him  if  you  want  him,  Andrija, 
but  you  must  tell  me  how  you  came  here  and  what 
you  are  doing,  little  rascal  that  you  are/' 

Andrija  slipped  his  dirty  little  hand  into  the  big 
brown  one  that  was  held  out  to  him.  "  Let  us  go 
somewhere,"  he  said,  "  away  from  these  boys  ;  then 
I  can  tell  you." 

Pepitch  nodded,  for  he  did  not  want  a  crowd  to 
gather.  He  turned  to  the  three  boys,  who  were 
already  slinking  away. 

"  Be  off,"  he  said,  "  and  don't  let  me  see  any  of 
you  again  while  I  am  in  this  town.  Ide  brzo  I  "  1 

Without  a  second  warning  the  urchins  scampered 
out  of  sight,  while  Pepitch  and  Andrija  walked  slowly 
through  the  town. 

"  I  shall  take  you  to  that  field  over  there— you 
see  ?— where  my  aeroplane  is,  and  the  soldier  who 
is  guarding  it.  I  have  come  down  for  more  petrol, 
and  first  we  must  fetch  that,"  and  not  saying  any- 
thing more  to  the  rather  subdued  Andrija,  who  was 
trotting  by  his  side  very  lamely  now  that  the  excite- 
ment of  the  fight  was  over,  he  went  to  the  depot 
where  his  petrol  was  to  be  obtained,  saw  that  it  was 
carried  to  his  aeroplane,  which  lay  in  a  field  well 
out  of  the  town,  and  then  led  Andrija  to  a  little 
kafana  that  stood  in  a  quiet  street  overlooking  the 

1  "  Go  away  quickly  !" 
184 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

meadow.  Ordering  coffee  for  himself,  he  took 
Andrija  into  the  shelter  of  his  big  arm  and  looked 
down  kindly  at  the  tired  little  boy.  "  Say  now, 
Andrija,  tell  your  Pepitch  how  you  came  here. 
Where  is  the  uncle,  and  how  came  you  to  be  wander- 
ing in  Keskovats  alone  ?  " 

Andrija  tried  to  speak,  but  he  was  so  desperately 
tired  that  no  words  would  come,  only  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  Pepitch  let  him  alone  till  the  little  storm 
had  passed,  just  patting  his  shoulder  very  kindly 
and  smoothing  the  ruffled  brown  hair  with  his  big 
hand. 

"  I  walked"  sobbed  Andrija,  "  because  they  would 
not  let  me  come  to  see  my  father,  though  I  begged 
them  when  I  knew  he  was  going  to  France.  And 
it  was  my  own  money — I  took  it  out  of  my  box — 
and  I  rode  Svetko  to  Ossipaonitsa  and  sent  him 
back.  And  I  did  write  a  letter  to  tell  Uncle  Bozhidar 
where  I  had  gone  so  that  he  would  not  be  frightened, 
Svetko  took  it  tied  to  his  saddle.  And  after  that  I 
bought  the  ticket  to  Plana,  and  then  there  was  not 
enough  money  and  I  had  to  walk/' 

Pepitch  said  something  under  his  breath  that 
Andrija  could  not  catch. 

r<  But,  Andrija,  my  son,  it  is  days'  and  days' 
journeying  for  these  small  legs.  Where  did  you 
sleep,  and  how  have  you  fed  ?  ' 

"  I  asked  at  the  houses  sometimes,  and  one  night 
I  was  with  Boris  Boyovitch  in  Palanka,  until  he  said 
he  would  send  me  back  to  Aunt  Olga,  and  then  I  ran 
away.  But  I  left  him  my  ikon.  And  last  night  it 
rained  and  I  was  wet,  and  to-day  Milosh,  a  lame 

185 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

man,  made  me  frightened  with  his  dog.  But  I 
knew  I  must  go  to  my  father.  Take  me  with  you, 
Pepitch— don't  leave  me—don't !  I  will  walk  as 
long  as  you  like,  only  don't  send  me  back  to  Uncle 
Bozhidar !  I  shall  die  if  I  stay  there.  Please,  please, 
Pepitch,  take  me  to  my  father  !  " 

Pepitch  rubbed  his  chin  meditatively,  but  his  arm 
was  still  tightly  round  the  boy. 

"  It's  the  queerest  thing  I  ever  heard,  and  Andrija 
is  the  strangest  boy  in  Serbia— of  that  I  am  quite 
certain/'  he  said,  speaking  to  himself  more  than  to 
the  boy  ;  "  but  as  you  are  here,  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  take  you  to  him." 

"  Oh,  Pepitch,  where  is  he  ?  '  cried  Andrija. 
"  Can  we  go  now  ?  Quick,  quick,  let  us  start !  " 

(  The  only  way  I  can  take  you  is  in  my  aeroplane/' 
said  Pepitch.     "  Will  you  be  afraid  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Pepitch,  what  splendid  fun  !  "  cried  Andrija, 
again  forgetting  his  tiredness  completely  at  the  two- 
fold joy  of  the  promised  flight  and  the  prospect  of 
seeing  his  father. 

Pepitch  laughed.  "  A  fine  way  of  ending  your 
trip,"  he  said.  "  But  we'll  have  to  hurry,  for  I'm 
due  at  Mladenovats  and  beyond." 

And  sure  enough,  after  a  hasty  consultation  with 
the  soldier  who  was  his  observer,  Andrija,  well 
muffled  up  in  a  thick  soldier's  coat,  was  strapped  in 
behind  with  the  soldier  and  the  maps,  while  Pepitch 
bundled  the  precious  puppy  into  a  safe  corner  near 
his  feet  and  prepared  to  start.  Oh,  how  funny 
Andrija  felt  as  the  monoplane  rose  !  For  a  minute 
or  two  he  shut  his  eyes,  but  he  soon  opened  them, 
186 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

though  only  to  see  the  spreading  wings  of  the  machine 
and  the  sky  above  him,  for  he  was  not  big  enough 
to  look  over  the  side  of  the  car.  How  glorious  it  was 
to  be  flying  through  the  air  like  a  bird  !  Andrija 
had  often  longed  as  he  watched  the  machines  which 
came  humming  over  Belgrade  and  Posharevats  that 
he  too  might  go  spinning  through  the  clouds,  but 
he  had  never  imagined  that  the  experience  could 
be  so  splendid  as  this.  He  made  up  his  mind  there 
and  then  that  he  could  never  be  anything  but  an 
aviator  ! 

The  flight  was  ended  all  too  soon,  for  in  a  very 
few  minutes  Pepitch  brought  his  'plane  down  in  a 
big  meadow,  where  by  some  tents,  over  against  a 
clump  of  trees,  a  group  of  officers  were  seated  at 
a  long  table,  evidently  just  finishing  an  out-of-door 
lunch  after  some  work  they  had  been  doing  in  the 
morning.  Pepitch  got  out  first,  then  he  lifted 
Andrija  down  and  put  him  on  his  feet. 

"  Come,  Andrija,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  give 
you  what  you  want,  though  never  did  such  a  little 
rascal  walk  the  earth  and  surely  never  so  dirty  a 
small  boy  said  Dobar  dan  to  his  Prince  before." 

Andrija  clung  tightly  to  his  hand  as  they  walked 
across  the  grass.  Would  his  father  be  cross  with  him 
because  he  was  so  dirty  ?  and  was  he  really  going  to 
see  the  Prince  who  was  his  hero  of  all  the  army  ? 

Pepitch  stopped  before  they  reached  the  little 
group  of  officers,  saluted,  then  bowed  very  ceremoni- 
ously to  the  one  who  stood  in  the  middle. 

"If  it  please  your  Highness/'  he  said,  "  here  is 
one  of  your  future  subjects  who  is  anxious  to  make 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

his  bow  to  you,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  present  him. 
He  is  the  son  of  Colonel  Lazaravitch,  and  as  such 
I  think  may  be  forgiven  his  present  rather  grimy 
appearance." 

Pepitch  was  a  favourite  with  the  young  Prince, 
who  stood  looking  at  the  grubby  little  boy  with 
kindly  but  very  amused  eyes  while  Pepitch  made 
his  little  speech.  With  a  smile  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Come  here,  son  of  Dushan  Lazaravitch/'  he  said 
to  Andrija,  who  still  clung  tightly  to  Pepitch's  hand. 
With  a  jerk  Andrija  pulled  himself  together  and 
saluted  the  Prince  as  he  had  been  taught ;  then  he 
gravely  kissed  the  hand  held  out  to  him. 

"  My  name  is  Andrija/'  he  said  very  shyly,  in 
answer  to  the  Prince's  next  question,  "  and  I  came 
to  find  my  father.  Will  you  please  to  tell  me  where 
he  is  ?  " 

The  Prince  laughed.  "  Indeed  he  should  be  here 
in  a  moment/'  he  said.  :'  It  was  a  pity  he  could  not 
see  you  in  the  aeroplane,  wasn't  it  ?  I  don't  believe 
any  other  little  Serbian  boy  has  been  so  lucky  as 
you. 

"  But  tell  me,  Pepitch,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the 
young  aviator,  "  how  did  the  boy  get  here,  and  where 
did  he  come  from  ?  He  looks  tired  out.  Did  you 
pick  him  up  in  the  clouds  ?  ' 

"  I  found  him  by  an  odd  chance  in  Keskovats,  sir, 
where  I  had  alighted,"  answered  Pepitch.  "  He  tells 
me  that  he  walked  there  from  Plana,  having  heard 
that  his  father  was  to  be  sent  to  France  on  his  special 
mission,  and  not  being  able  to  persuade  his  uncle 
188 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

and  aunt,  in  whose  care  Colonel  Lazaravitch  had 
placed  him,  to  bring  him  here." 

"  From  Plana  \  "  echoed  the  Prince ;  "  a  youngster 
like  that  !     Why,  man,  he  isn't  much  more  than  a 

baby "   checking   himself   as   he   saw   Andrija's 

round  eye  of  indignation.  'That  is  to  say,  of 
course  he  is  a  big  boy,  but  not  big  enough  for  so 
long  a  walk  as  that."  And  he  laughed  again  a  little 
under  his  short  moustache. 

"  But  I  had  to  walk/'  explained  Andrija,  regardless 

.  of  anything  else,  "  or  else  I  should  never  have  seen 

Oh,  Father,  Father ! "  he  cried  rapturously,  as  he 
darted  out  of  the  little  circle  and  flung  himself  into 
the  arms  of  a  very  startled  Colonel  Lazaravitch,  who 
was  just  coming  up  to  join  his  brother  officers  again 
after  giving  some  orders  to  his  adjutant. 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Colonel  Lazaravitch 
could  believe  that  it  really  was  Andrija,  and  more 
before  he  could  get  at  the  truth  of  the  whole  matter. 
The  group  of  officers  gathered  round  father  and 
child,  the  Prince  as  interested  as  any,  and  little  by 
little  the  story  of  Andrija's  wanderings  came  out  in 
full. 

Colonel  Lazaravitch  held  his  son  very  tightly  as 
he  told  of  his  encounter  with  Milosh,  for  he  realized 
that  Andrija  had  been  in  greater  danger  than  he 
knew  oi,  and  though  he  felt  he  ought  to  be  cross  with 
the  boy  for  disobeying  his  orders  to  remain  with 
Uncle  Bozhidar  in  Posharevats  till  he  came  for  him, 
yet  the  child's  passionate  love  and  fear  lest  his  father 
should  go  out  of  the  country  without  his  getting  a 
glimpse  of  him  could  not  but  melt  his  anger.  For 

189 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

after  all  Andrija  and  he  were  now  all  in  all  to  each 
other.  There  was  no  one  else — there  never  could  be 
anyone  else  ;  and  now  that  he  had  his  son  with  him 
again  the  father  realized  how  cruel  had  been  his 
loneliness  without  that  small  sturdy  person,  who 
was  all  that  was  left  to  him. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  him,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  the 
Prince,  who  stood  with  one  hand  placed  affectionately 
on  his  shoulder,  for  Colonel  Lazaravitch  was  one  of 
his  most  trusted  officers. 

"  I  should  keep  him  with  you,  Lazaravitch,"  said 
the  Prince.  "He  is  of  the  same  fibre  as  yourself, 
and  I  want  none  better.  Keep  him  with  you,  and 
when  he  is  old  enough  he  shall  enter  the  Body-guard. 
But  don't  send  him  back,  for  I'm  certain  that  if 
you  do  '  Aunt  Olga  '  will  succeed  in  taming  that 
spirit,"  he  added,  with  a  little  laugh,  "  and  we  want 
more  of  it,  not  less,  to-day." 

"  Andrija,  son  of  mine  !  "  said  the  Colonel  very 
gravely  to  the  small  boy  who  stood  at  his  knee 
clutching  the  rescued  puppy  very  tightly,  "  you  are 
to  thank  the  Prince  for  the  honour  he  has  done  you. 
And  you  are  to  prove  to  him  that  you  are  deserving 
of  that  honour  by  learning  to  be  obedient  and  to 
respect  discipline.  If  you  are  to  lead  others  you 
must  learn  first  to  obey/' 

"  He  will  learn  that  well  enough,  Lazaravitch," 
was  the  kindly  answer  of  the  soldier  Prince,  "  but 
here  is  a  heart  that  is  too  young  and  tender  for 
anything  but  love.  You  must  be  father  and  mother 
both  to  him  now.  And  for  my  part  I  would  wish  the 
boy  to  stay.  He  will  never  turn  away  from  you— 
190 


THE  VILLA  GOLUB 

with  you  he  will  go  far.  Make  his  peace  first  with 
the  aunt,  though,  and  take  him  to  Paris  till  the  storm 
has  blown  over !  "  And  with  a  little  laugh  he  patted 
Andrija  on  the  head  and  walked  away  to  his  tent, 
followed  by  the  other  officers,  and  Andrija  and  his 
father  were  left  alone. 

"  So  I  am  to  stay  in  camp  with  you,  Father/' 
said  Andrija  contentedly,  "  and  you  are  not  very 
angry  with  me  for  coming  ?  Don't  let  me  go  back, 
please,  please,  and  I  will  be  so  good  !  I  will  never 
disobey,  and  I  will  learn  all  my  lessons ;  but  I  shall 
die  if  I  go  back  without  you.  Can't  I  live  with  you 
like  other  little  boys  ?  "  ' 

Colonel  Lazaravitch  looked  over  the  little  brown 
head  as  if  he  saw  some  one  else  standing  there  ;  then 
in  a  very  low  voice  he  said  :  "  Since  you  have  left 
me,  Franchise,  I  dare  not  send  him  back.  For  your 
dear  sake  he  shall  never  leave  me  again/' 

And  in  the  end  Andrija  did  stay.  And  moreover 
he  went  to  Paris  with  his  father. 

And  the  Prince  wrote  such  a  nice  letter  to  Uncle 
Bozhidar  and  Aunt  Olga  that  they  were  able  at 
once  to  forgive  their  runaway  nephew  for  the  fright 
he  had  given  them.  So  Andrija's  adventures  ended 
quite  happily ;  and  in  the  companionship  of  his  be- 
loved father,  in  earnest  work  at  his  lessons  and  amid 
all  the  interest  of  the  life  around  him  he  soon  forgot 
his  sad  days  at  the  Villa  Golub. 


191 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 


N 


CHAPTER  I  :  A  BETROTHAL 

IT  was  really  a  very  hot  day  even  for  July.  The 
sun  beat  fiercely  down  on  the  white  woods  and 
on  the  square  courtyard  that  lay  between  the 
old  farmhouse  which  belonged  to  Ivan  Radovitch 
and  the  smaller  buildings  where  his  married  sons  and 
daughter  lived  with  their  children.  If  you  go  into 
the  little  villages  of  Serbia  you  will  find  a  great  many 
farms  like  this  one,  where  a  whole  family  will  be 
living,  all  their  houses  built  inside  the  rough  wooden 
fence  which  encloses  them  and  protects  them,  seem- 
ing to  spread  from  the  house  where  the  head  of  the 
family  lives  just  as  branches  spring  from  the  big 
oak-trees  that  grow  so  plentifully  along  the  Serbian 
country  lanes. 

Ivan  Radovitch's  farm  was  a  big  one,  for  he  and 
his  wife  had  four  sons  and  three  daughters,  and  the 
sons  and  one  of  the  daughters  were  married  and 
all  were  living  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  house  where 
they  had  been  born.  So  the  little  children  of  Ivan's 
children  played  among  the  cattle-sheds,  climbed  the 
trees  in  the  plum  orchards,  and  drove  the  herds  of 
pigs  up  the  hill-sides  for  food,  just  as  their  mothers 
and  fathers  had  done  before  them. 

They  were  big,  sturdy  boys  and  girls,  these  grand- 
children of  old  Ivan— himself  still  upright  and  strong 
—and  it  was  not  often  that  you  could  see  any  of 
them  sitting  still ;  romping  and  racing  was  more  in 
their  minds. 

In  the  corner  of  the  courtyard,  under  the  big 
walnut-tree-  just  the  one  bit  of  shade  at  that  time 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

of  the  day— sat  Ivan  himself,  and  by  his  side  his 
youngest  grandchild  of  all,  named  Stefan.  If  you 
had  told  any  of  the  noisy  band  what  their  grandfather 
Ivan  Radovitch  was  doing,  and  asked  why  the  small 
boy  was  sitting  so  quietly  beside  him,  they  would 
have  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  run  laughing 
away,  saying  :  "  Oh,  but  that  is  our  lazy  Stefan. 
He  thinks  of  nothing  but  carving  and  whittling  with 
his  fingers.  He  thinks  that  if  he  watches  the  grand- 
father at  his  work  he  too  will  make  a  carver  !  What 
rubbish,  since  all  the  village  knows  that  there  never 
has  been  a  carver  like  Grandfather  !  " 

Stefan  "himself,  however,  would  laugh  as  heartily 
as  any  of  them,  for  he  didn't  mind  in  the  least  how 
much  his  cousins  teased  him,  provided  they  would 
only  leave  him  in  peace  to  be  with  his  grandfather. 

He  would  sit  for  hours  perched  on  a  little  stool  by 
the  old  Ivan's  side  watching  the  clever  fingers  at 
work— for  there  was  no  doubt  at  all  as  to  their  clever- 
ness. Anyone  for  miles  round  would  tell  you  that  Ivan 
Radovitch  could  work  magic  with  a  piece  of  wood, 
cunningly  fashioning  it  into  a  water-bottle,  or  a  box 
to  hold  bride  clothes  that  would  make  any  bride  or 
bridegroom  in  the  district  quite  puffed  up  with  pride. 

To-day  he  was  .working  at  a  special  task,  and  the 
small  boy  watched  with  almost  breathless  interest 
the  movements  of  the  strong  brown  fingers.  The 
carving  was  almost  finished  :  soon  Stefan  knew  his 
grandfather  would  begin  to  colour  the  wood,  burn- 
ing and  tinting  until  the  plain  brown  sycamore  was 
glowing  with  colours,  red  and  blue  and  gold,  like 
those  in  some  fine  old  illuminated  book. 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

The  box  was  for  a  wedding  gift,  and  the  bride  was 
to  be  Stefan's  favourite  aunt,  the  last  but  one  of  Ivan's 
children  to  marry.  The  gift  was  to  be  one  of  no  com- 
mon excellence,  and  Stefan  dared  scarcely  breathe 
as  the  last  touches  were  given  to  the  delicate  acorns 
which  ran  in  a  scroll  round  the  lid. 

Grandfather  Radovitch  worked  on  almost  in 
silence,  for  he  was  very  intent  on  his  task.  In  less 
than  a  week  would  be  the  wedding-day  of  Milutina, 
his  second  daughter,  and  the  pride  of  his  heart, 
and  the  bridal  coffer  into  which  all  her  best  finery 
would  be  packed  must  be  a  thing  of  particular  beauty. 
All  across  the  top  of  it  lay  curving  sprays  of  plum 
blossom,  and  round  the  sides  were  carved  cunningly 
figures  that  told  the  story  of  a  famous  Serbian  hero, 
Kraljevitch  Marko,  and  his  piebald  horse  Sharats.  . 

Stefan  could  no  longer  contain  himself  as  his  grand- 
father stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  long  sigh  of 
relief. 

"Bozhef  but  it  is  wonderful,  my  grandfather! 
See  how  the  little  horse  snuffs  the  wind,  and  see  how 
his  hoofs  paw  the  ground  !  He  might  be  alive  now  1  " 

Ivan  looked  down  at  his  work,  being  well  pleased, 
for  he  had  a  curious  delight  in  praise  from  this  black- 
thatched  youngster,  while  he  was,  as  a  rule,  perfectly 
indifferent  to  anyone's  remarks  on  his  carving.  "  I 
am  Ivan  Radovitch,"  he  would  say,  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  "  and  this  is  my  work  :  if  anyone  does 
not  like  it  he  is  free  to  say  so,  but  it  is  no  matter 
to  me." 

Yet  he  was  pleased  when  Stefan  said  he  thought 
Sharats,  the  piebald  horse,  looked  so  real,  for  he 

197 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

himself  was  rather  proud  of  the  spirited  way  the 
carven  figure  stood  out  in  relief  from  the  coffer. 

Stefan  looked  up  again.  "  Will  you  colour  it  to- 
night, my  grandfather  ?  "  he  said  eagerly.  "  Shall  I 
run  and  fetch  the  bowls  and  dyes  ?  The  sun  is  still 
high  and  I  need  not  go  to  fetch  the  cattle  back  till 
it  is  lower/' 

Ivan  Radovitch  shook  his  head,  however. 

"  There  is  no  time/'  he  said,  with  a  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder,  for  he  had  laid  the  heavy  coffer  down 
on  its  side  against  the  rough  bench  on  which  he  had 
been  sitting.  "  Thy  grandmother  will  be  calling  thee 
to  make  ready  the  supper  with  her— to-night  is  my 
neighbour  Milan  Toplitch  coming  with  his  friends  to 
ask  the  hand  of  thy  Aunt  Katinka,  and  we  must  do 
honour  to  our  guests.  Truly  it  would  please  me 
better  to  sit  here  and  finish  the  coffer,  but  thou 
knowest,  Stefan,  that  there  is  a  proverb,  '  Better  let 
the  village  perish  than  the  old  customs  in  the  village/ 
and  I  for  one  will  do  as  my  fathers  did  before  me/' 

Just  at  that  moment,  indeed,  Stefan's  grandmother 
came  to  the  door  of  the  house  and  stood  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hand  against  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and 
"  Where  is  my  little  Stefan  ?  "  she  called.  "  Ah, 
there  he  is  !  Come,  little  rascal ;  there  is  much  to 
do,  and  only  thou  and  I  and  thy  Aunt  Katinka,  for 
the  rest  are  all  away  in  the  fields  and  will  not  be 
back  till  supper-time." 

Stefan  would  have  liked  very  much  to  stay  out  in 
the  sunshine  a  little  longer.  He  did  not  love  the  hot 
kitchen  overmuch,  and  moreover  he  had  several 
private  plans  of  his  own  that  he  desired  to  carry 
108 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

out.  But  in  Serbia  no  small  boy  or  girl  would 
dream  of  disobeying  their  elders,  and  with  a  little 
nod  of  farewell  to  his  grandfather  he  trotted  obediently 
into  the  house  at  his  grandmother's  heels. 

Militsa  Radovitch  was  a  handsome  old  dame,  tall 
and  dignified,  with  fine  hair  which  had  gone  white 
rather  early  under  the  silk  handkerchief  she  always 
wore  knotted  round  her  head.  She  was  plump  in 
body,  rather  like  a  nice  partridge,  with  soft,  cushiony 
hands  that  were  very  clever  when  a  small  boy  had 
an  ache  or  a  pain,  and  nimble  feet  that  trotted  about 
from  dawn  to  sunset,  just  as  if  she  were  twenty  in- 
stead of  sixty.  To-night  she  was  more  than  usually 
energetic,  and  Stefan  was  soon  running  about  the 
big  kitchen  in  obedience  to  her  quick  voice. 

Militsa  Radovitch  was  very  proud  of  her  house, 
though  it  was  not  a  very  big  one  according  to  our 
ideas.  It  was  built  one  story  high,  with  a  wooden 
balcony  running  right  round  it.  The  kitchen  was 
really  the  living-room  too,  and  opening  out  of  it  were 
two  rooms  used  as  bedrooms,  these  in  turn  opening 
out  of  one  another. 

The  kitchen  had  a  square  low  hearth  with  a  wide, 
open  chimney  above  it,  and  to-night  there  was  a 
rich  smell  of  cooking  coming  from  the  big  black  pot 
that  hung  from  chains  in  the  chimney  over  the  fire 
which  crackled  on  the  hearth. 

Stefan  sniffed  inquiringly  when  he  first  came  in- 
side ;  then  he  recognized  the  smell — it  was  cabbage 
stew,  and  how  good  that  would  be  only  those  who 
had  tasted  Grandmother  Radovitch's  cooking  could 
know.  From  the  roof  hams  and  pieces  of  dried  salted 

199 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

meat  were  hanging,  and  presently  Militsa  Radovitch 
cut  a  thick  piece  of  pork  that  was  to  be  cooked  with 
the  cabbage  soup,  and  popped  it  knowingly  into  the 
pot.  How  good  it  smelt  !  But  Stefan  had  not  much 
time  for  sniffing,  for  he  had  to  make  up  the  fire,  fetch 
more  sticks  from  the  wood-pile  in  the  yard,  pump 
water  at  the  well  to  fill  up  the  black  pot,  and  grind 
much  coffee,  for  visitors  were  expected. 

Then  he  had  to  stir  the  soup  while  his  grandmother 
made  wheaten  cakes  at  the  table  near  the  door,  and 
he  found  that  rather  hot  work.  And  he  had  to  stir 
all  the  time,  for  loud  would  his  grandmother's  voice 
have  been  raised  if  even  the  tiniest  bit  of  cabbage  had 
stuck  to  the  side  of  the  pot. 

Aunt  Katinka  was  busy  in  the  inner  room  prepar- 
ing a  table  for  supper.  As  a  rule  they  had  supper 
in  the  kitchen,  and  Stefan  was  a  little  puzzled  over 
this  new  idea. 

"  Grandmother/'  he  ventured  to  ask  at  length, 
raising  a  very  red  face  from  his  task,  "  why  is  the 
Aunt  Katinka  making  ready  the  table  in  there  ?  Is 
it  a  feast,  and  shall  I  put  my  velvet  coat  on  ?  ' 

Grandmother  as  a  rule  did  not  like  little  boys  to  ask 
questions,  but  to-night  she  only  smiled  as  she  mixed 
her  cakes. 

"  To-night  is  the  Prossidba  for  thy  Aunt  Katinka, 
little  boy,  so  we  must  all  prepare  to  do  honour  to  the 
guests." 

Stefan  nodded  wisely  at  this,  for  he  knew  quite 
well  what  a  Prossidba  was.  If  I  tell  you  what  it 
means  you  will  understand  why  Stefan  had  to  come 
in  to  help  to  make  supper,  and  why  his  grand- 

200 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

mother  was  taking  such  special  care  over  her  little 
cakes. 

Prossidba  means  'the  requesting  errand/  When  a 
certain  man  in  the  village  has  a  son  whom  he  wishes 
to  marry,  he  first  of  all  looks  round  to  see  if  any  one 
of  the  village  girls  is  likely  to  make  a  good  wife  for  his 
son,  and  if  he  finds  one,  he  tries  to  discover  whether 
her  father  and  mother  would  like  her  to  marry.  If 
they  say  that  they  think  their  daughter  would  be 
happy  married  to  his  son,  he  comes  with  a  friend 
or  relative  to  the  girl's  home  on  this  '  requesting 
errand/  when  he  asks  permission  formally  for  the 
marriage  to  take  place. 

Now  Katinka  Radovitch  was  a  very  nice  girl,  and 
a  very  clever  girl,  able  to  cook  and  brew,  spin  and 
weave,  as  well  as  any  girl  for  miles  round  the  village 
where  her  father's  farm  was  built.  And  also  she  had 
such  a  frank,  open  face  and  was  known  to  be  so  kind- 
hearted  and  happy-tempered  that  very  many  fathers 
had  wished  that  she  might  be  a  bride  for  their  sons. 

But  since  she  was  the  youngest  child  of  Militsa  and 
Ivan  Radovitch  and  the  old  couple  did  not  want  her 
to  go  away  from  them,  they  had  always  said  '  No  ' 
to  anyone  who  came  to  ask  for  her,  till  one  day 
Michael  Toplitch  had  seen  her,  and  had  gone  home 
to  tell  his  father  that  she  must  be  his  bride  or  none 
other  would  he  have.  Now  Michael  Toplitch  was 
the  eldest  son  of  a  farmer  who  had  much  land  and 
many  cattle,  and  he  was,  too,  a  fine,  handsome  young 
man,  so  that  for  many  reasons  Militsa  and  Ivan 
Radovitch  thought  he  would  be  a  good  bridegroom 
for  their  daughter  Katinka. 

201 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Of  course  in  England  I  suppose  Michael  would  just 
have  come  to  Katinka  and  told  her  that  he  would 
like  her  to  be  his  bride,  but  being  a  Serb  he  could 
not  do  that.  However,  he  had  told  his  father  that 
the  affair  must  be  settled  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
Milan  Toplitch  had  taken  great  pains  to  find  out  if 
Katinka's  parents  were  willing.  Now  their  assent 
was  secured,  and  to-night  Milan  Toplitch  was  to 
come  and  ask  formally  for  the  hand  of  Katinka  for 
his  son  Michael. 

And  lest  it  should  seem  that  Katinka's  inclina- 
tions in  a  matter  so  nearly  affecting  her  had  not  been 
sufficiently  considered,  let  it  be  said  that  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  the  love  match  in  the  affair,  for  Katinka's 
heart  had  been  given  to  the  handsome  Michael  from 
a  day,  more  than  a  year  ago,  when  she  had  first 
caught  his  glance  in  the  market  at  Banja. 

Most  Serbian  marriages  are  arranged  by  the 
parents,  and  love  matches  are  rare.  The  young 
people  submit  as  a  matter  of  course  to  their  parents' 
wishes.  Sometimes,  of  course,  a  maiden  will  prove 
obdurate  and  refuse  to  accept  the  husband  chosen 
for  her  ;  and  in  such  a  case  the  young  man  may  seek 
the  aid  of  witchcraft  to  turn  the  damsel's  affections 
toward  him.  At  midnight  on  a  certain  Friday  he 
will  go  to  the  courtyard  of  the  young  woman's  house 
and  there  shake  a  tree  three  times,  repeating  her 
Christian  name  at  each  shake,  whereupon  she  will 
answer  his  call  and  her  affections  are  secured  to  him. 
Or  he  will  catch  a  certain  fish  and  let  it  die  near  his 
heart,  then  roast  its  flesh  till  it  is  burnt  to  a  cinder, 
then  pound  the  ashes  and  place  the  powder  in  water 

202 


He  will  shake  a  tree  three  times 


GILBERT  JAMM 


202 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

or  some  other  drink.  If  the  maiden  can  be  prevailed 
upon  to  taste  the  love-philtre  her  heart  will  be  won.1 

Katinka,  however,  had  not  to  be  gained  by  enchant- 
ments. So  Grandmother  Militsa  blithely  went  about 
the  business  of  making  her  cakes,  Ivan  hurried  to  help 
his  sons  fodder  the  cattle  and  drive  the  pigs  in,  and 
Stefan  stirred  the  soup,  while  Katinka  herself,  humming 
a  quaint  little  air,  arranged  the  feast  in  the  inner  room. 

Presently  there  was  a  great  deal  of  noise  and 
laughter  in  the  courtyard,  and  Stefan  guessed  that 
these  were  his  uncles  and  cousins  coming  home  with 
the  last  of  the  herds.  It  was  a  great  temptation  to 
him  to  step  out  to  join  in  the  fun,  for  though  he  might 
like  sitting  quietly  by  his  grandfather's  side  or  in  a 
corner  with  the  lumps  of  clay  that  he  was  so  fond  of 
patting  and  moulding  into  shape,  still  he  was  a  real  boy 
and  loved  the  jokes  that  were  always  flying  about  when 
two  or  three  of  the  Radovitch  cousins  were  together. 

In  a  minute  Djura,  one  of  the  elder  boys,  came  in 
with  a  big  armful  of  faggots  for  the  fire.  "  See, 
Grandmother/'  he  said,  "  how  fine  a  fire  you  will 
have  with  these  faggots.  I  picked  them  from  the 
woods  as  I  came  along  with  the  pigs." 

"  Put  them  down  in  the  corner,  boy,"  said  his 
grandmother,  "  and  run  across  to  your  mother  to  ask 
her  for  her  little  coffee-mill.  I  do  not  know  what 
ails  ours,  but  grind  finely  it  will  not.  And  then  come 
and  grind  some  beans  for  me,  for  it  is  getting  late 
and  the  sun  is  low." 

Stefan  looked  out  of  the  window.     Oh,  yes,  it  was 

1  See  Hero  Tales  and  Legends  of  the  Serbians,  by  W.  M.  Petrovitch, 
PP-  32-33  (Harrap). 

203 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

certainly  nearly  time  for  supper.  Just  when  the  sun 
dipped  below  the  branches  of  the  big  walnut-tree  it 
would  be  time  for  the  kitchen  door  to  be  opened 
again,  and  his  grandfather's  heavy  tread  would  come 
up  the  three  wooden  steps  that  led  to  the  house. 
There  was  not  a  clock  to  be  found  in  the  whole  of  the 
village,  and  Stefan  knew  nothing  about  telling  the 
time  except  by  the  sun— and  his  appetite,  which  was 
certainly  a  big  one. 

Katinka  came  in  from  the  inner  room  now,  very 
fine  in  her  Sunday  dress,  and  her  mother,  though  in 
the  very  middle  of  her  cake-baking,  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  coming  up  to  her  to  arrange  the 
folds  of  the  pleated  skirt  and  straighten  the  beautiful 
velvet  apron,  worked  in  silk  by  her  mother's  hands. 
Katinka's  hair  was  braided  under  a  fine  silk  kerchief 
instead  of  the  cotton  one  she  wore  on  ordinary  work- 
ing days,  and  round  her  neck  she  had  the  prettiest 
beads.  How  fine  she  looked  !  Her  nephews  Stefan 
and  Djura  could  scarcely  keep  their  tongues  quiet, 
only  they  did  not  dare  to  tease  her,  or  indeed  to  make 
any  remarks  in  their  grandmother's  presence. 

Grandmother  Radovitch  went  back  to  her  cakes, 
which  by  now  were  being  baked  over  the  wood  fire, 
with  a  very  pleased  look  on  her  face.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  Katinka  would  be  making  a  very  good 
marriage  ;  and  few  girls  would  have  a  better  bride- 
chest  to  take  with  them  to  a  new  home— a  splendid 
carved  chest,  filled  with  homespun  flax  and  cloth, 
embroidered  pillows  and  fine  rugs. 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  Grand- 
father Radovitch  and  his  eldest  son,  Petar. 
204 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

'  Is  supper  ready,  wife  ?  ';  he  asked,  "  for  I  hear 
the  trot  of  horses  down  the  lane,  and  I  fancy  that 
will  be  our  good  neighbour  Milan  Toplitch." 

And  so  indeed  it  proved  to  be.  Hardly  had  he 
spoken  when  horses'  hoofs  were  heard  in  the  court- 
yard, and  the  sound  of  voices. 

The  grandmother  sent  Stefan  and  Djura  flying  out 
to  take  the  horses  away,  and  old  Ivan  went  out  to 
receive  his  guests.  Katinka  ran  into  the  other  room, 
and  her  mother  followed  her,  first  giving  a  glance 
round  to  see  that  all  was  in  order. 

Then  Milan  Toplitch  and  a  man  whom  Stefan  did 
not  know  came  into  the  house,  and  while  Milan 
was  greeting  the  grandfather  the  stranger  shut  the 
kitchen  door  with  his  shoulders— to  signify  that  the 
maiden  is  shut  in  the  house  and  there  is  no  escape  for 
her — a  memory  of  the  savage  times  when  a  man  in 
search  of  a  bride  had  to  capture  her  by  force. 

Ivan  invited  his  guests  to  sit  round  the  fire,  and  when 
Stefan  and  Djura  came  in  they  joined  the  circle  too. 

Presently  Militsa  Radovitch  came  bustling  into 
the  kitchen,  and  after  she  had  greeted  the  guests  she 
carried  the  savoury -smelling  stew  into  the  next  room, 
and  invited  them  to  enter  and  partake  of  it. 

Neither  Grandmother  Radovitch,  Katinka,  nor 
the  two  boys  came  in  to  have  supper— only  Grand- 
father and  Stefan's  uncle  Petar,  Milan  Toplitch,  and 
his  friend  seated  themselves  round  the  table. 

Stefan  and  Djura  remained  in  the  kitchen  and  ate 
their  supper  there,  while  Grandmother  Radovitch 
stood  by  the  chimney  with  her  hand  on  Katinka's 
shoulder,  both  far  too  excited  to  eat  at  all. 

205 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

When  the  guests  had  eaten  and  drunk  for  a  little 
time,  Stefan  heard  the  stranger  say  to  his  grand- 
father :  "Brother,  thou  hast  not  asked  us  what  is 
the  object  of  our  visit  this  evening.  We  have  not 
come  to  eat  or  drink,  but  to  make  a  certain  arrange- 
ment, if  it  please  God,  and  if  it  be  agreeable  to 
you." 

Ivan  Radovitch  made  a  grave  little  bow,  then  he 
answered  :  "  Brother,  I  have  not  asked  the  object 
of  this  visit,  because  I  thought  you  would  tell  me 
yourself  why  you  came.  I  am  certain  it  was  for 
some  good  purpose,  so  you  are  very  welcome  to  me." 

Milan  Toplitch  then  turned  to  Grandfather  Rado- 
vitch, and  pulling  out  a  little  bag  he  had  in  his 
pocket  he  laid  it  on  the  table,  saying  :  "  Yes,  Ivan 
Radovitch,  it  is  true  that  I  have  come  for  a  good 
purpose.  We  would  be  pleased  to  enter  into  family 
relationship  with  you,  in  God's  name  !  My  son 
Michael  would  like  to  take  your  daughter  Katinka 
for  his  bride,  if  it  be  God's  will  and  agreeable  to  you." 

Then  he  pulled  out  of  his  bag  a  flat  wheaten  cake, 
and  laying  on  it  a  small  bunch  of  flowers  he  placed 
them  on  the  table.  Pulling  out  of  his  breast-pocket  a 
handful  of  coins,  he  then  picked  out  several  gold  pieces 
and  laid  them  on  the  cake  too,  as  the  first  present 
which  he  meant  to  give  to  his  son's  future  bride. 

Ivan  Radovitch  nodded  his  head.  Then  he  said  : 
"  Brother,  we  must  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  over 
this— let  us  see  what  my  daughter  would  have  to  say," 
and  rising  from  his  chair  he  went  out  to  consult  his  wife. 

Really,  of  course,  all  this  had  been  settled  before- 
hand, but  it  was  the  custom,  so  of  course  Ivan 
206 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

followed  it,  just  as  his  father  and  grandfather  had 
done  before  him.  In  a  moment  or  two  he  came  back 
to  the  inner  room,  and  filled  up  the  glasses  of  his 
visitors  with  red  wine,  saying  to  them  that  they 
must  continue  their  supper  till  his  wife  should  find 
out  whether  her  daughter  were  willing  or  not. 

Stefan  and  Djura  found  this  deeply  interesting. 
Then  in  another  moment  Uncle  Rayko,  the  brother 
who  was  Katinka's  twin,  came  in  from  his  own  house 
across  the  courtyard,  and  after  kissing  his  mother 
and  sister  on  the  cheek  he  took  Aunt  Katinka  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  into  the  inner  room. 

Aunt  Katinka  bowed  deeply  before  Milan  Toplitch 
and  kissed  his  right  hand  ;  then  she  went  round  the 
table  and  kissed  the  hands  of  the  other  three.  Back 
again  Uncle  Rayko  led  her  to  the  father  of  her  future 
husband,  and  Milan  picked  up  the  coins  from  the 
flat  cake  and  placed  them  in  Katinka's  hand,  together 
with  the  bunch  of  flowers,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 
"  May  God's  blessing  rest  upon  this  marriage,  O  my 
dear  daughter,  and  may  all  happiness  await  thee,  my 
little  lucky  one,  my  charming  carnation  I  " 

Katinka  blushed  very  prettily  and  kissed  his  hand 
again,  then  Uncle  Rayko  led  her  out  to  the  kitchen, 
holding  her  coins  and  flowers. 

This  was  the  signal  for  which  the  two  boys  had 
been  eagerly  waiting.  With  cries  of  joy  they  hurried 
out  of  the  house  and  fired  off  pistols  in  the  court- 
yard. Out  came  the  other  two  brothers  and  their 
sons,  out  came  Uncle  Rayko  and  Uncle  Petar,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  you  would  have  thought  that 
there  was  a  battle  going  on  ! 

207 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Really  it  was  just  the  Serbian  way  of  telling  the 
rest  of  the  people  in  the  village  that  Katinka  was 
formally  engaged  to  be  married. 

Meantime  in  the  supper-room  Milan  Toplitch  had 
taken  out  another  gold  coin  from  his  money-bag 
and  laid  it  on  the  flat  cake,  that  being  the  price  for 
which  he  bought  a  wife  for  his  son— another  old 
custom  which  Ivan  Radovitch  would  not  dream  of 
forgetting,  though  of  course  he  would  only  have 
laughed  if  anyone  had  really  suggested  that  he 
should  sell  his  daughter  ! 

Then  they  drank  the  health  of  the  young  couple, 
and  the  two  fathers  embraced  and  kissed  each  other, 
for  from  that  moment  they  would  be  family  relations. 

"  And  we  must  fix  the  day  for  giving  the  ring," 
said  Milan  Toplitch. 

"  And  for  the  wedding  too,"  agreed  Ivan  Radovitch. 

"  Yes/'  said  his  wife.  "  My  daughter  will  not 
keep  her  groom  waiting  while  she  spins  her  wedding 
clothes.  She  is  a  fine  worker  and  not  a  lazy  good- 
for-nothing  like  some  of  the  girls  of  to-day." 

"  But  the  dress  I  shall  give  my  son's  bride,"  said 
Milan,  and  that  indeed  was  the  custom. 

Stefan  was  not  much  interested  in  all  this  talking, 
but  he  liked  a  wedding,  for  did  it  not  give  plenty  of 
opportunity  for  pistol-shooting  ?  and  besides,  were 
there  not  always  such  splendid  things  to  eat  ? 
Decidedly,  he  thought,  as  he  followed  his  uncles  into 
the  house,  and  helped  to  make  a  big  hole  in  what 
was  left  of  the  cabbage  stew,  it  would  be  rather  a 
good  thing  if  one  had  a  wedding  in  the  house  every 
month  ! 
208 


CHAPTER  II  :   STEFAN'S  ADVEN- 
TURE 

UP  on  the  hill-side  beneath  the  wide-spreading 
branches  of   a  great   beech-tree  Stefan  lay 
sleeping   one    hot    afternoon.      Around   him 
his  goats  were  feeding,  cropping  eagerly  the  short, 
fine  grass  of  the  hill-country,  and  relishing  it  none 
the  less  because  it  was  beginning  to  look  rather 
brown  after  many  days  of  the  scorching  sun  of  an 
unusually  hot  August. 

From  time  to  time  the  tinkle  of  their  little  bells 
would  sound  in  the  clear  air  as  the  goats  clambered 
up  and  down  from  turf  to  rocky  ledges  in  search  of 
the  sweet  grass  they  liked  so  well,  but  other  noises 
there  were  none.  The  river  flowed  far  beneath  the 
hill  where  the  boy  lay  sleeping,  the  forests  were  very 
still,  no  birds  sang  in  the  branches  to-day,  not  even  a 
woodman's  axe  was  at  work  ;  all  was  quiet.  Stefan 
lay  on  a  soft  cushion  of  turf  with  his  head  on  a  heap 
of  last  year's  leaves  that  had  fallen  from  the  great 
beech-tree.  He  had  pulled  his  broad  felt  hat  over 
his  eyes  the  better  to  shield  them  from  the  strong 
sunlight,  and  lay  very  still  in  the  deep  sleep  of 
healthy  boyhood. 

Suddenly  on   the  crest  of  the  hill-spur  a  horse 

'and  its  rider  came  into  sight,  and  made  their  way 

down  the  slope  toward  the  spot  where  the  boy  was 

sleeping.     At  the  sight  of  the  lad  the  rider  jumped 

from  the  saddle,  and  the  two,  man  and  horse,  stood 

very  still  and  noiselessly  by  the  side  of  Stefan,  the 

horse  nuzzling  the  man's  coat-sleeve  as  if  he  wondered 

o  209 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

a  little  at  some  strange  whim  of  his  master,  but  very 
docile  under  the  caressing  hand  which  fondled  his 
velvet  nose.  It  was  at  Stefan  that  the  stranger  first 
looked,  but  his  eyes  soon  travelled  from  the  boy  to 
the  objects  which  were  scattered  around  him— 
figures  of  horses  and  goats,  little  trees  and  houses, 
all  modelled  from  the  soft  red  clay  of  the  hill-side, 
which  Stefan  amused  himself  by  making  every  time 
he  found  himself  alone. 

Stooping  down,  the  stranger  picked  up  one  of  the 
largest  of  the  clay  figures,  representing  Zita,  the 
prettiest,  perhaps,  of  all  the  goats  under  Stefan's 
charge. 

Zita  herself  was  feeding  only  a  little  distance  away, 
and  as  the  stranger  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
from  the  goat  to  the  little  model  in  clay  which  he  had 
in  his  hand,  his  look  of  astonishment  deepened. 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  he  said  half  to  himself 
and  half  to  the  air.  "  I  could  hardly  have  expected 
to  find  a  talent  like  this  growing  wild  on  a  Serbian 
hill-side  !  I  wish  the  boy  would  wake  without  my 
speaking  to  him.  I  am  afraid  he  will  bolt  from  here 
if  he  is  startled,  and  I  want  to  ask  him  about  these 
clay  playthings  of  his. 

"  There  is  genuine  talent  here — rough  enough, 
crude  enough,  heaven  knows,  but  the  real  thing— 
or  I'm  a  Dutchman  !  JJ 

The  low  tones  of  his  voice  would  scarcely  have 
wakened  Stefan,  but  just  at  that  moment  one  of  the 
half-savage  wolf-dogs  belonging  to  his  grandfather, 
which  had  attached  itself  to  Stefan  as  a  kind  of 
body-guard,  came  running  swiftly  toward  him,  and, 
210 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

scenting  a  stranger,  broke  into  a  furious  barking. 
The  stranger  was  by  no  means  a  coward,  but  he  knew 
the  country  well,  and  knew,  therefore,  how  dangerous 
these  guard  dogs  can  be.  He  had  nothing  in  his 
hand  but  a  light  riding-switch,  and  in  spite  of  him- 
self at  the  dog's  furious  onslaught  he  uttered  a  sharp 
exclamation.  Stefan  at  that  instant  woke  up. 

In  front  of  him  stood  the  stranger,  keeping  the  dog 
at  bay,  and  Stefan  in  a  moment  was  by  his  side. 

"  Back,  Hafiz  !  "  he  cried  to  the  dog.  "  Lie  down 
at  once  and  learn  your  manners  !  Do  not  mind 
my  dog,"  he  continued,  smiling  rather  shyly  at  the 
stranger.  "He  is  only  bad  old  Hafiz  and  nobody 
minds  him — but  he  does  not  like  stranger  people/' 
and,  half  laughing,  half  scolding,  he  pushed  the  dog 
away  with  his  foot. 

Hafiz  lay  down,  but  he  growled  softly  from  time 
to  time  as  if  to  prove  that  he  really  was  a  terrible 
creature  ! 

The  tall  stranger  held  out  his  hand  to  Stefan. 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy,"  he  said,  speaking  Serbian, 
rather  slowly  it  is  true,  but  still  so  that  Stefan 
understood  him  quite  well.  "  I  am  glad  you  were 
here  when  Hafiz  came— he  has  some  sharp  teeth." 
Then  he  stopped,  and  looking  down  at  the  little  clay 
figures  he  continued  :  "  Will  you  show  me  your  clay 
goat  ?  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

Stefan  grew  rather  red,  for  he  thought  this  tall 
stranger  must  be  laughing  at  him— every  one  else 
thought  his  clay  figures  rather  a  childish  occupation 
for  a  great  boy  to  spend  his  time  over,  and  he  gene- 
rally kept  them  out  of  sight.  It  was  well  enough  to 

211 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

keep  them  in  the  thicket  on  the  hill-side,  where  he 
herded  his  grandfather's  goats  or  pigs,  but  as  for 
showing  them  to  anyone  ! — he  almost  felt  inclined 
to  laugh  at  the  idea  himself. 

Still,  he  was  bound  to  be  polite  to  a  stranger,  and 
with  a  shamefaced  air  he  stooped  and  gathered  up 
an  armful  of  his  treasures.  "  There  !  "  he  said,  "  I 
made  all  these,  but  they  are  not  very  good.  I  can 
make  better  ones  if  I  am  not  lazy." 

The  stranger  looked  first  at  Stefan,  then  at  the 
little  clay  figures.  "  But  I  think  they  are  very 
good,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me,  who  showed  you  how  to 
do  this  ? — did  your  father  teach  you  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  answered  Stefan,  "  and  since 
my  mother  died  too  I  live  with  my  grandfather. 
That  is  our  house  over  there — do  you  see  ? — where 
the  smoke  comes  up.  I  am  Stefan  Radovitch,  you 
see." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  replied  the  Englishman,  whose  name 
was  Peter  Diviner,  and  whose  beautiful  pictures 
had  made  him  quite  a  famous  man  in  England,  as 
well  as  in  France,  where  he  generally  lived.  '  I 
see  the  house,  and  if  I  had  time  I  would  like  to 
come  and  see  you  there.  Perhaps  another  day  I 
can  come." 

"  But  come  to-day,"  cried  Stefan.  "  I  do  not 
want  you  to  go  away.  Are  you  a  French  gospodin 
[gentleman]  ?  ' 

"  No,  I  am  an  Englishman,"  laughed  Peter  Diviner ; 
"  but  I  live  in  France  because  I  can  paint  better 
pictures  there.  That  is  why  I  came  to  your  beautiful 
country — I  came  to  paint  your  mountains  and  the 

212 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

vineyards,  so  that  English  and  French  people  can 
see  how  fine  they  are/' 

Stefan  was  sorely  puzzled  by  this.  Pictures  he 
had  never  seen  except  in  church,  and  the  little  ikon 
of  the  family  saint  which  hung  on  the  bracket  above 
the  lighted  lamp,  and  he  thought  it  rather  funny  that 
anyone  should  want  to  paint  the  mountains  ! 

Peter  Diviner  smiled  a  little,  then  he  pulled  some- 
thing out  of  one  of  the  big  bags  that  hung  from  his 
horse's  saddle.  He  held  it  up  for  Stefan  to  see, 
and  was  well  rewarded  by  the  little  gasp  of  amaze- 
ment that  came  from  the  boy's  lips. 

"  It — it  is  our  valley  !  "  stammered  Stefan.  "  I 
could  touch  it  !  It  is  even  our  orchard,  and  the 
mountain  behind  the  Morava  !  I — I  have  never 
seen  anything  like  this  in  the  world  before  !  " 

The  artist  was  very  well  pleased.  He  pulled  sketch 
after  sketch  out  of  his  portfolio  and  laid  them  before 
the  astonished  Stefan,  whose  eyes  grew  nearly  as  big 
as  saucers. 

'  I  am  showing  them  to  you,"  he  explained, 
'  because  I  think  you  are  an  artist  too." 

Stefan's  eyes  fell,  and  he  touched  the  pictures 
with  an  almost  reverent  hand.  "  Could— could  I," 
he  stammered,  "  could  I  ever  learn  to  make  pictures 
like  these  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  artist  gravely. 
'  It  would  mean  hard  work,  my  boy — you  would 
have  to  study  many  things  if  you  wished  to  become 
one  of  the  people  who  make  the  beautiful  things  of 
life.  I  believe  that  you  have  the  true  spirit  in  you 
— the  difficulty  will  be  "  —speaking  almost  as  if  he 

213 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

were  talking  to  himself — "  that  between  a  farm  of 
mid-Serbia  and  a  Paris  studio  there  is  a  great  gulf 
fixed." 

Stefan  did  not  quite  understand  this,  so  he  turned 
again  to  the  pictures,  while  Peter  Diviner  stood 
looking  down  at  him. 

Stefan  interested  this  artist  as  no  other  person 
had  done  among  the  many  with  whom  he  had  made 
friends  since  first  he  came  to  paint  in  Serbia. 

"  I  would  give  a  good  deal,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  to  take  the  lad  back  with  me  and  give  him  a  chance. 
His  may  be  a  talent  lost  to  the  world  if  he  is  not 
brought  out,  and  who  is  to  see  him  here  ?  It  is  by 
the  veriest  chance  that  I  passed  this  way,  instead 
of  going  by  the  road.  Have  I  the  right  to  stir  up 
longings  in  him  that  I  cannot  gratify  ?  I  do  not 
think  I  have — it  will  be  wiser  to  go,  and  go  quickly, 
or  I  shall  be  doing  something  rash,  as  usual." 

And  with  a  sudden,  decided  nod  of  his  head  he 
took  the  pictures  gently  from  Stefan's  hand  and 
began  to  pack  the  saddle-bags  again.  Stefan's  face 
fell. 

"  Are  you  going  away,"  he  said,  "  and  shall  I  not 
see  you  again  ?  Only  come  and  drink  coffee  with 
us,  and  I  will  show  you  my  grandfather's  carving, 
and  many  nice  things  that  he  has  made.  And  I 
have  a  few  more  of  the  clay  things  you  like — if  you 
will  only  come  and  see  them." 

Peter  Diviner  shook  his  head — quite  sadly  this 
time,  as  if  he  too  found  it  hard  to  go. 

"  It  must  be  Zbogom  to-day,  I  am  afraid,  Stefan," 
he  said  rather  sadly.  "  See  how  low  the  sun  is  in 
214 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

the  sky,  and  I  have  to  ride  all  the  way  back  to 
Leskovats/' 

"  Will  you  stay  long  there  ?  "  asked  Stefan  eagerly. 
"  Can  you  ride  here  another  day  ?  You  have  a 
good  horse,  and  we  would  have  you  as  a  guest  in  our 
house  theq..  Please  come  and  see  us  !  " 

"  Another  day,  I  promise/'  said  the  artist,  "  but 
now  I  must  go,  Stefan.  Take  care  of  your  models, 
and  make  some  more  for  me  to  see  the  next  time  I 
come/1 

He  laid  his  hand  on  Stefan's  shoulder  and  paused 
a  moment,  then  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away 
down  the  winding  path. 

Stefan  watched  the  horse  and  its  rider  till  they 
were  both  out  of  sight ;  then  he  flung  himself  down 
on  the  turf  again,  his  head  resting  in  his  hands,  and, 
forgetting  the  goats  and  the  setting  sun,  he  fell  into 
a  kind  of  day-dream,  thinking  only  about  the  pictures 
he  had  seen  and  the  wonderful  ideas  the  painter  had 
put  into  his  mind.  He  might  have  sat  there  till 
night  fell  if  one  of  his  cousins  had  not  come  racing  up 
the  slope  in  search  of  him.  And  then  did  not  Stefan 
get  a  scolding  for  forgetting  that  it  was  past  the 
goats'  milking-time  !  Konstantin  had  a  long  tongue, 
and  used  it  well,  but  I  am  afraid  that  everything 
he  said  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other, 
for  Stefan's  mind  was  only  filled  with  the  idea  of 
making  pictures  like  Peter  Diviner's,  and  for  anything 
else  at  the  moment  he  had  no  thoughts  at  all. 

Grandfather  Radovitch  was  told  all  about  the 
stranger,  of  course,  for  it  was  quite  unusual  to  meet 
a  foreigner  riding  about  the  hills  in  that  quiet 

215 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

district — especially  an  Englishman,  and  one  who 
could  talk  Serbian  so  well. 

Grandmother  Militsa  wanted  to  know  if  the 
stranger  were  a  handsome  man,  and  if  he  had  much 
money,  and  Grandfather  Ivan  said  that  all  English- 
men were  very  wealthy — and  indeed  he  thought 
that  this  Englishman  must  be  a  lazy  man  if  he 
travelled  about  all  his  life  painting  pictures,  instead 
of  stopping  at  home  to  look  after  his  own  fields  and 
herds.  Neither  Ivan  nor  his  sons  could  imagine  a 
life  without  fields  to  till  or  flocks  to  rear,  so  they 
were  very  much  puzzled  by  and  interested  in  this 
foreigner's  strange  behaviour. 

After  supper  Stefan  went  back  into  his  dreams, 
in  which,  indeed,  he  lived  for  a  good  many  days 
after  that.  Each  morning  he  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  in  the  hope  that  he  would  see  the  stranger 
coming,  and  each  day  he  was  disappointed.  He  did 
not  think  the  artist  would  forget  the  promise  he  had 
made,  but  as  the  days  passed  by  and  still  he  never 
came  Stefan  grew  quite  sad,  and,  if  I  must  say  it, 
just  a  little  bad-tempered.  He  would  not  play  with 
the  other  cousins,  and  he  was  forgetful  of  his  charges, 
the  goats  and  pigs,  which  he  had  to  help  to  look 
after.  All  he  thought  about  was  getting  on  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  watching  for  his  stranger.  I  don't 
know  what  would  have  happened  if  this  had  gone 
on  much  longer,  but  one  night  as  Stefan  came  down 
very  late  from  the  forest,  where  he  had  been  sent 
with  another  boy  to  bring  back  a  sledge-load  of 
brushwood  for  the  house  fire,  he  found  great  doings 
at  home.  The  courtyard  seemed  full  of  people, 
216 


oo      2 

•*-      j 
"^      j 


o 
•4! 

<ii 

• 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

there  were  torches  flaring,  much  bustle  and  con- 
fusion, women's  shrill  voices  raised  above  the  deeper 
tones  of  the  men,  and  the  creaking  of  wheels,  and 
Stefan  could  see  that  a  heavy  ox-wagon  was  being 
slowly  moved  almost  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading 
up  to  the  house. 

This  was  interesting,  and  the  two  boys  hastened 
to  learn  what  was  happening.  A  tall  man  was  being 
carefully  lifted  out  of  the  cart  by  two  of  Stefan's 
stalwart  uncles  and  carried  up  the  steps.  Suddenly, 
with  a  little  cry  of  "  The  English  gospodin  I  "  Stefan 
ran  forward. 

"  It  is  my  Englishman  !  "  he  cried.  "  What  has 
happened  to  him  ? — is  he  hurt  ? — is  he  dead  ?  Why 
are  you  bringing  him  here  ?  ' 

"What  do  you  mean,  Stefan?"  said  his  grand- 
mother. '  Your  Englishman  indeed !  The  poor  man 
is  much  hurt — I  think  he  has  broken  his  leg."  Half 
a  dozen  people  seemed  to  be  talking  at  once,  but 
Stefan  elbowed  his  way,  regardless  of  every  one,  right 
up  to  the  injured  man,  who  was  just  then  opening  his 
eyes.  He  smiled  faintly  at  the  boy's  anxious  face, 
and  tried  to  put  out  a  hand,  but  drew  it  back  with  a 
little  ejaculation  of  pain. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  shake  hands  to-day,  Stefan/' 
he  said  in  his  careful  Serbian.  "  You  see,  I  have 
hurt  myself  ;  but  I  shall  soon  be  better." 

The  family  held  up  its  hands  with  one  accord. 

"  Bozhe ! '  each  said  admiringly  to  the  other. 
"  He  speaks  such  beautiful  Serbian  !  How  clever  he 
is,  and  the  poor  man  in  such  pain  !  A  clever  gospodin 
indeed  !  'J 

217 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  He  has  had  a  fall  from  his  horse/'  explained  Uncle 
Petar  to  old  Ivan  Radovitch,  who  came  in  from  the 
courtyard  carrying  the  stranger's  riding-whip.  "  The 
beast  stumbled  in  the  forest  over  a  log  and  threw  him 
badly.  The  leg  is  broken,  I  think,  but  not  the  arm. 
That  is  only  cut  and  bruised/' 

Old  Ivan  came  forward  and  bent  over  the  injured 
man.  "  He  is  welcome  to  my  house/'  he  said  with  his 
usual  grave  courtesy.  "  He  must  be  my  guest  till  his 
hurts  are  well ;  and  though  he  is  far  from  his  own 
people,  yet  we  will  be  his  people  till  he  is  better,  and 
for  so  long  after  that  as  the  gospodin  wishes." 

Peter  Diviner  looked  up  and  smiled  back.  He 
was  in  great  pain  and  he  felt  very  faint,  but  he  was 
glad,  since  this  unlucky  accident  had  happened  to 
him,  that  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  himself 
among  such  hospitable  folk.  He  had  been  carried 
into  the  inner  bedroom,  and  laid  on  the  wide  bed  so 
that  Uncle  Petar,  who  had  the  most  skill  of.  any  in 
the  treatment  of  sickness,  could  examine  his  injuries. 
Militsa  Radovitch  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed 
looking  at  him  with  kind  eyes,  and  he  liked  her  fine 
old  face  under  its  cotton  kerchief.  In  her  hand  she 
held  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  roll  of  white  linen  hung 
over  her  arm  to  bind  up  his  cuts.  But  Petar  shook 
his  head  over  the  leg.  "  I  am  no  doctor,"  he  said 
bluntly  to  Peter  Diviner,  "  and  this  is  more  than  I 
can  manage.  So  I  will  even  now  ride  over  and  fetch 
Lovro  Tankossitch — he  has  seen  much  service  in  the 
wars,  and  will  set  your  leg  as  easily  as  look  at  it." 

The  Englishman  made  a  little  grimace  under  the 
shelter  of  his  hand — he  did  not  like  the  thought  of 
218 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

having  his  leg  set  by  a  peasant  doctor  ;  but  when 
Lovro  really  came,  and  skilfully  and  quickly  did 
his  work,  he  was  obliged  to  confess  that  a  lifetime  of 
forest  work  and  war  may  fit  a  man  for  many  another 
craft  besides  those  two.  And  as  it  turned  out,  the 
leg  was  not  actually  broken,  though  very  badly  hurt. 
There  are  few  doctors  in  Serbia,  and  the  country 
people  often  possess  a  natural  skill  in  healing,  while 
the  hard  years  of  war  have  turned  many  a  Serb 
soldier  into  a  rough-and-ready  surgeon. 

Stefan  hung  about  outside  while  Lovro  was 
with  the  patient  and  his  grandmother  helped  to 
make  the  sick  man  comfortable,  but  he  was  wildly 
excited  to  think  that  his  wonderful  stranger  was 
actually  in  his  grandfather's  house.  The  moment  he 
could  obtain  permission  to  do  so,  he  crept  into  the 
room  where  Peter  Diviner  lay,  and  stood  shyly  by 
the  bed  looking  down  at  the  artist.  Peter  was  feeling 
too  limp  and  tired  to  talk  much,  and  he  was  beginning 
to  be  a  little  feverish,  but  he  smiled  kindly  at  Stefan, 
and  that  smile  made  him  the  boy's  hero  for  ever. 
With  a  little  gulp  Stefan  said  softly  : 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  hurt,  Gospodin,  but 
I  am  glad  it  was  near  our  house  that  your  horse 
stumbled  and  not  up  in  the  forest,  or  perhaps  we 
should  not  have  found  you  till  to-morrow.  I  have 
brought  you  a  little  thing  for  a  present,  because  Grand- 
mother says  I  may  not  stop  with  you  to-night,"  and 
holding  out  something  wrapped  up  in  a  handkerchief, 
he  thrust  it  into  Peter  Diviner's  hand  and  ran  out  of 
the  room,  overtaken  by  a  sudden  fit  of  shyness.  Peter 
looked  at  the  little  package — it  was  the  clay  goat ! 

219 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Grandmother  Radovitch  saw  it  too.  "  Dear, 
dear  !  "  .  she  clucked,  "  what  rubbish  has  the  boy 
brought  in  now  ?  The  gospodin  must  forgive  him— 
he  is  only  a  boy  with  no  father  to  correct  him,  and 
my  man  does  nothing  but  spoil  him  the  livelong  day. 
Now  you. must  go  to  sleep,  and  not. talk. any  more/' 
Her  voice  sounded  almost  as  if  she  were  angry,  but 
really  she. was  very  proud  that  the  stranger  should 
be  her  guest,  for  Militsa  Radovitch  was  a  famous 
nurse  and  loved  looking  after  sick  people. 

Peter  was  too  tired  to  talk.  He  drank  the  warm 
milk  she  brought  him  and  shut  his  eyes  obediently, 
but  he  still  held  the  little  clay  goat  that  Stefan  had 
put  into  his  hand,  and  when,  a  little  later,  he  lay 
between  sleep  and  wakefulness,  and  Grandmother 
Radovitch,  rather  shocked  by  Stefan's  unceremonious 
behaviour,  tried  to  take  it  gently  from  him,  his  fingers 
fastened  tightly  round  it,  and  there  it  was  still  in  the 
morning,  rather  flattened,  but  still  a  goat. 

It  was  some  days. before  Militsa  Radovitch  allowed 
Stefan  to  see  much  of  his  hero,  for  she  was  very  careful 
of  her  patient  and  did  not  believe  in  encouraging 
visits  from  noisy  boys.  So  Stefan  had  to  content 
himself  with  peeping  shyly  round  the  door,  and 
smiling  all  over  his  face  when  Peter,  from  under  his 
blanket,  would  sing  out  a  cheery  "  Dobar  dan,  dechko" 
("  Good  morning,  youngster").  Peter  would  hold 
up  the  battered  '  Zita/  and  Stefan  would  smile  more 
broadly  than  ever,  then  he  would  produce  from  one 
of  his  pockets  some  treasure  to  cheer  the  sick-bed — a 
handful  of  walnuts,  a  pretty  pebble,  or  a  gay  bird's 
feather,  which  he  would  place  with  great  solemnity 

220 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

in  Peter's  hand.  He  was  always  rather  solemn  these 
first  few  days,  and  not  so  talkative  as  he  had  been 
on  the  hill-side,  so  Peter,  who  loved  to  hear  him  talk, 
would  tell  him  stories  about  life  at  home  in  Eng- 
land or  France,  till  Stefan's  eyes  grew  rounder 
and  rounder,  and  he  lost  his  shyness  and  his  eager 
questions  grew  almost  continual. 

In  the  evening,  when  work  in  the  fields  was  done, 
the  men  would  come  along  and  sit  beside  their 
guest,  smoking  endless  cigarettes  and  drinking  the 
good  coffee  Grandmother  or  Katinka  would  prepare. 
Then  what  talks  there  would  be  ! — tales  of  old 
Serbia,  capped  by  stories  of  life  in  England  or  France 
which  made  every  one  stare  and  wonder,  till  the  fire 
died  on  the  hearth  and  Grandmother  bundled  them 
all  off  to  bed. 

Peter  was  very  happy  in  his  enforced  confinement, 
though  he  suffered  a  good  deal  of  pain,  and  though  he 
was  missing  the  loveliest  months  of  the  year  while  he 
lay  in  bed.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  him  to  find  that 
his  leg  was  only  badly  bruised  and  strained,  and  not 
broken.  When  he  began  to  get  better  they  would 
carry  him  out  to  the  long  seat  under  the  walnut- 
tree,  and  there  he  would  stay  all  the  long  sunshiny 
day.  Stefan  was  never  very  far  away,  and  great 
was  his  happiness  when  Peter  began  to  paint  his 
pictures  again  :  little  sketches  of  the  house,  of  Aunt 
Katinka  drawing  water  from  the  well  in  the  court- 
yard, of  Uncle  Boris  yoking  the  oxen,  and  one  day 
even  a  picture  of  Stefan  himself. 

And  what  a  proud  boy  he  was  then  !  Grand- 
mother was  just  as  proud  as  Stefan  himself,  and 

221 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

indeed  the  whole  household  came  and  hung  breath- 
lessly over  the  painter's  shoulder.  "  Bozhe  I "  one 
would  cry,  "but  that  is  wonderful!  Did  you  see 
how  the  brush  made  first  just  a  mark,  and  then  the 
mark  grew  into  a  nose  ?  ' 

"  If  you  had  lived  a  long  time  ago,  Gospodin, 
they  would  have  made  you  into  a  saint/'  laughed 
Grandfather  Radovitch. 

"  To-day  is  good  enough  for  me/'  answered  Peter, 
laughing  too  as  he  laid  down  his  brush  to  rest  a  few 
minutes.  This  was  the  signal  for  Grandmother 
Radovitch  to  fetch  a  big  bowl  of  goat's  cheese, 
cherries,  and  her  new-baked  maize  bread,  all  carried 
in  the  rough  yellow  earthenware  that  the  artist 
liked  so  much. 

"  Look  you/'  she  scolded  laughingly,  "  you  talk 
and  talk  to  the  gospodin,  and  he  works  and  works, 
a  sick  man  too.  I  shall  have  to  take  the  brushes 
away  and  send  Stefan  off  to  herd  the  goats  if  it  goes 
on  this  way.  Eat  your  cheese  now,  my  little  sir, 
and  drink  that  good  milk — a  healing  leg  needs  much 
food.  Bozhe!" 

11  You  are  too  good  to  me,  Maika,"  said  Peter 
affectionately  to  her.  "  You  spoil  me  like  one  of 
your  own  family." 

"  Indeed  and  I  was  never  spoilt  like  that," 
laughed  her  eldest  son.  "  It  was  very  different  for 
us,  I  can  tell  you,  Gospodin." 

"  Here  comes  another,"  said  Peter  in  mock  terror. 
"  What  is  it  this  time,  Miss  Katrnka  ?  " 

"  A  hard-boiled  egg  to  eat  with  your  cheese  and 
cherries.  See,  I  will  take  off  the  shell  for  you." 

222 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

And  very  carefully  Katinka  took  the  shell  away, 
afterward  crushing  it  into  the  finest  powder,  for  she 
believed  that  if  she  did  not  do  this  the  witches  might 
use  these  shells  as  little  boats  to  cross  rivers,  lakes, 
and  seas  and  visit  different  countries. 

All  the  family  believed  in  witches,  and  there  was 
generally  a  piece  of  garlic  hanging  over  the  door  to  keep 
them  away,  because,  they  said,  it  is  well  known  that 
witches  do  not  like  the  strong  smell  of  that  plant. 

One  day  Stefan  told  Peter  a  wonderful  story  about 
a  woman  who  was  a  witch,  and  Peter  liked  it  so 
much  that  he  made  a  little  picture  of  it,  which  he 
gave  to  Stefan  as  his  very  own. 

"  You  know,  Gospodin,"  Stefan  said,  "  that  all 
the  witches  are  very  sociable — they  like  to  meet  and 
have  supper  together.  Generally  they  have  supper 
among  the  branches  of  the  big  walnut-trees  (I  should 
not  wonder  if  they  had  it  sometimes  in  our  walnut- 
tree),  or  they  may  choose  the  ground  on  which  wheat 
has  been  threshed.  It  is  quite  easy  for  a  witch  who 
pretends  to  be  an  ordinary  woman  to  go  to  the 
supper  of  the  other  witches,  because  all  she  has  to  do 
is  to  rub  a  little  special  grease  into  her  armpits  and 
then  at  once  she  can  fly  through  the  air  and  come 
down  just  where  she  wishes.  There  was  a  man  once 
who  had  a  wife  who  he  thought  was  a  witch,  and 
finding  out  where  she  kept  her  flying  grease,  one 
night  after  she  had  flown  away  he  rose  up,  rubbed 
some  into  his  armpits,  and  repeated  the  words  he 
had  heard  his  wife  use :  '  Over  the  thorn-bush, 
over  the  tree-tops,  and  carry  me  straight  to  the 
witches'  meeting/ 

223 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

"  Even  before  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth 
a  great  wind  seemed  to  come  rushing  through  his 
house,  and  he  was  carried  away  by  a  mighty  hurricane 
right  through  the  air,  past  the  thorn-bush,  over  the 
tree-tops,  till  at  last  he  dropped  into  the  branches  of 
a  large  walnut-tree  on  a  high  hill-top.  There  sat 
a  number  of  witches,  and  what  was  his  surprise 
when  he  found  among  them,  not  only  his  own  wife, 
but  several  of  his  neighbours'  wives  !  They  were 
witches  too  ! 

"  They  were  all  sitting  round  a  golden  table 
drinking  wine  from  golden  cups.  He  was  so  aston- 
ished to  see  them  that  he  cried  out :  '  Oh,  may 
a  curse  be  upon  each  one  of  you,  witches  all ! '  At 
this  the  golden  table  disappeared  into  the  ground, 
the  witches  rose  up  in  the  air  like  so  many  black- 
birds and  flew  away  uttering  angry  cries,  and  the 
inquisitive  husband  fell  from  the  tree  on  to  the  hard 
ground,  breaking  his  ribs,  while  all  the  golden  cups 
crashed  down  around  him. 

"  Although  he  was  in  great  pain,  still  he  began 
to  pick  up  the  golden  cups,  but  to  his  great  disgust 
he  found  them  to  be  only  hoofs  of  dead  horses 
and  cattle  !  " 

"  And  what  happened  to  him  afterward  ?  "  in- 
quired Peter. 

"  I  do  not  think  the  story  tells  us,"  Stefan  said, 
"  but  I  expect  he  would  fly  everywhere  after  that— 
unless  his  wife  hid  the  flying  grease." 

He  sat  silent  a  minute,  then  sighed  heavily.  "  I 
wish  I  had  some  flying  grease  too,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  What  do  you  want  flying  grease  for  ?  "  asked  Peter. 
224 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

"  So  that  when  your  leg  is  better  and  you  go  back 
over  the  sea  I  could  rub  it  in  my  armpits  and  fly 
after  you/'  said  Stefan.  "  I  do  not  want  you  to  go 
awa}/.  Stay  with  us  and  paint  your  pictures  here. 
There  are  very  many  things  you  have  not  seen  yet, 
and  I  can  show  you  anything  you  will." 

Peter  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  I  am  afraid  that 
cannot  be,  Stefan/'  he  said.  "  I  must  go  back  as 
soon  as  ever  this  old  leg  of  mine  is  fit  to  travel. 
It  is  true  that  I  am  quite  happy  here,  but  I  have  a 
great  deal  of  work  waiting  for  me  in  Paris ;  and 
what  is  to  become  of  my  pupils,  who  are  all  waiting 
for  me  to  teach  them  how  to  paint  ?  ' 

Stefan  sighed  again,  more  heavily  than  before. 
"  Then  I  think  I  must  come  too/'  he  said  in  a  sad 
but  determined  voice.  "  If  you  teach  other  boys, 
I  think  I  must  be  a  pupil  too.  I  would  work  very 
hard,  I  promise  you,  and  I  would  not  be  afraid  to 
go  over  the  sea.  You  shall  ask  my  grandfather, 
Gospodin,"  he  went  on  earnestly,  laying  his  brown 
hand  on  Peter's  knee.  "  He  will  let  me  go,  I  think, 
and  I  have  nobody  else  who  could  stop  me." 

Peter  put  his  hand  on  Stefan's  shoulder. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  know  very  well  that  I 
would  give  a  good  deal  to  take  you  with  me  and 
teach  you  what  I  know,  or  rather  to  put  your  gift 
into  better  hands  than  mine — for  I  believe  it  will 
be  sculpture,  not  painting,  which  will  be  your  life- 
work — but  I  do  not  know  if  I  should  be  doing  the 
right  thing.  Do  you  know  that  you  might  be  very 
lonely  far  away  in  France — away  from  all  your 
relatives,  among  people  who  speak  another  language, 
P  225 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

live  in  a  different  way  ?  Why,  Stefan,  even  the 
food  you  ate  would  be  altogether  strange  !  "  —this 
with  a  little  laugh. 

"  I  do  not  mind,"  said  Stefan,  "  I  do  not  mind 
anything,  if  only  I  can  go.  Please,  please,  Gospodin, 
ask  of  my  grandfather  this  very  day  that  I  may  go." 

Peter  did  not  feel  sure  that  he  was  doing  right, 
but  later  in  the  day  when  Grandfather  Radovitch 
came  to  sit  beside  him,  bearing  a  wooden  box  that 
he  was  carving,  and  talking  pleasantly  about  many 
things,  he  told  him  of  Stefan's  wish. 

At  first  Grandfather  Radovitch  shook  his  head. 
The  boy  was  young,  and  had  no  parents.  Then, 
again,  if  Stefan  did  not  work  on  the  farm  now,  and 
learn  the  way  to  manage  the  cattle,  grow  the  maize, 
and  tend  the  vineyards,  how  was  he  to  live  when  he 
was  a  man  ? 

As  I  have  said,  Grandfather  Radovitch  could  not 
really  understand  a  life  in  which  there  were  no  cattle 
and  no  maize-fields  !  And  Peter  had  to  tell  him 
many  things  about  the  life  in  France  and  England 
before  he  could  understand  how  Stefan  would  work 
at  his  new  task,  and  how  perhaps,  if  all  Peter's  hopes 
were  realized,  Stefan  might  some  day  be  a  great 
man. 

"  Only,  you  must  not  tell  him  that,"  he  said. 
"  I  believe  he  has  a  great  gift,  but  we  shall  see 
by  and  by.  Will  you  trust  him  with  me,  Ivan 
Radovitch  ?  "  he  said  very  earnestly.  "  He  shall 
be  to  me  as  my  own  son,  and  I  will  care  for  him  as 
if  I  were  his  father." 

There  were  many  talks  on  the  subject  between  the 
226 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

Radovitch  family  and  their  friend,  and  for  a  while 
nothing  was  settled.  Katinka's  wedding  was  the 
next  event,  and  until  that  was  over  even  Stefan's 
future  had  to  remain  undecided.  How  Peter 
Diviner  enjoyed  all  the  fun  of  it — for  he  had  never 
seen  so  fine  a  Serbian  wedding  before — and  what  a 
splendid  gold  chain  he  gave  the  bride  to  hang  round 
her  neck,  specially  sent  for  all  the  way  from  Salonika ! 

But  when  all  the  excitement  was  over,  and  Katinka 
had  gone  away  to  her  new  home  the  other  side  of  the 
village,  he  began  to  talk  about  Stefan  again  to  the 
grandmother  arid  grandfather.  The  talking  seemed 
to  be  endless,  for  every  one  had  something  to  say 
about  it ;  but  in  the  end,  when  the  day  came  for 
Peter  Diviner  to  say  good-bye  to  his  kind  hosts  and 
ride  along  the  road  which  led  to  Rashka,  he  did  not 
ride  alone.  By  his  side,  mounted  on  a  sturdy  grey 
pony,  was  an  excited  boy,  hardly  able  even  now  to 
understand  what  a  great  change  was  taking  place  in 
his  life.  On  the  saddle  before  him  was  a  big  bundle 
—all  his  best  clothes,  carefully  packed  by  Grand- 
mother's hands. 

In  the  courtyard  were  assembled  all  the  women- 
folk and  his  boy  cousins — his  uncles  were  to  ride  with 
him  a  little  way— and  at  the  top  of  the  steps  his 
grandfather  had  solemnly  kissed  him  on  either  cheek 
and  wished  him  a  safe  journey  and  a  path  of  happi- 
ness in  his.  new  life.  Aunt  Katinka  had  her  apron 
to  her  eyes,  for  she  was  too  fond  of  her  nephew  to 
like  saying  Zbogom  even  for  a  day,  much  less  for 
years.  When  the  horses  clattered  out  of  the  court- 
yard on  to  the  road  there  was  a  regular  fusillade  of 

227 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

pistol-shots,  to  do  honour  to  the  departure  of  the 
boy  who  was  making  such  a  great  journey. 

Grandmother  came  out  to  the  road  with  them,  and 
Stefan  pulled  his  pony  up  and  kissed  her  affection- 
ately. "  It  will  not  be  for  so  very  long,  Grand- 
mother," he  said,  with  his  arms  round  her,  "  and 
you  shall  see  what  fine  things  I  shall  bring  you." 

"  If  it  were  not  for  thy  good,  little  pigeon,  I  would 
not  let  thee  go/'  she  answered,  "  but  the  gospodin 
has  told  us  that  maybe  we  should  do  thee  a  hurt  by 
keeping  thee  with  us— and  I  wish  all  happiness  for 
thee.  May  the  good  God  be  with  thee,  O  little  one  I  " 
And  she  kissed  him  again  and  again,  till  Aunt 
Katinka  came  and  gently  led  her  by  the  hand  into 
the  courtyard.  Stefan  had  to  swallow  hard,  but  he 
was  a  big  boy  and  would  not  shed  a  tear ;  so  after 
a  mighty  gulp  or  two  he  smiled  back  at  the  group 
before  the  house  and  waved  his  hand  as  gaily  as  he 
could,  then  galloped  his  pony  down  the  road  after 
the  others. 

As  he  came  to  the  bend  of  the  road  he  turned  in 
his  saddle  and  looked,  for  the  last  time  for  many  a 
day,  at  the  old  farm,  at  the  blue  smoke  rising  above 
the  thatched  roof,  at  the  terraced  hill-sides  where  the 
grapes  were  purple,  and  at  the  golden  maize. 

Peter  saw  him  stop,  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"There  is  yet  time,  Stefan,"  he  said  softly.  "If 
you  think  you  cannot  be  happy,  I  would  not  have 
you  come.  Be  very  sure,  my  boy."  His  voice  was 
kinder  than  ever,  and  Stefan  looked  up  at  him  with 
eyes  of  love. 

"  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  Gospodin,"  he  said 
228 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

simply.  '  But  though  I  love  them  all,  I  would  stay 
with  you— I  do  not  think,  now  that  I  know,  that  I 
can  ever  go  away  from  you." 

And  it  was  with  a  sober  face  but  a  happy  heart 
that  Stefan  on  his  grey  pony  rode  out  into  the 
Unknown. 


229 


CHAPTER  III  :   STEFAN'S  RETURN 

IN  the  old  house  built  round  the  cobbled  court- 
yard life  went  on  much  as  usual  after  Stefan 
had  gone  away.  Old  Ivan  Radovitch  missed 
him  perhaps  more  than  anybody,  for  he  and  his 
grandson  had  always  liked  being  together,  and  no 
one  else  was  so  interested  in  his  carving  as  Stefan 
had  been.  But  he  felt  in  his  heart  that  the  day 
would  come  when  the  boy  would  return  to  Serbia 
again,  and  knowing  that  the  lad  was  in  such  good 
hands  he  was  well  content  to  give  him  his  '  chance/ 
as  Peter  Diviner,  the  artist,  had  called  it.  They 
all  led  such  a  busy  life,  too,  that  there  was  very  little 
time  for  fretting  over  Stefan's  going,  for  the  Rado- 
vitch clan  was  a  large  one,  and,  as  was  the  custom 
in  that  part  of  Serbia,  all  the  members  of  the  family 
helped  each  other  in  the  work  on  the  land.  None 
of  the  sons  of  Grandfather  Radovitch  owned  land 
separate  from  that  of  the  others—  it  all  belonged  to 
the  clan  of  which  Ivan  was  the  head,  or  Stareshina, 
as  the  Serbs  called  him— and  the  maize  was  grown 
and  the  cattle  reared  for  the  benefit  of  every  one 
in  the  clan.  Every  clan,  or  zadruga — which  is  its 
name  in  the  Serbian  language— owns  just  as  much 
land  and  as  many  animals  as  its  sons  and  daughters 
are  capable  of  looking  after.  Thus  a  big  clan  like 
the  Radovitch  zadruga  has  a  considerable  amount 
of  work  to  do.  To  begin  with,  there  is  the  land 
to  till,  the  maize  and  beans  to  grow,  the  vine- 
yards to  tend,  the  plum  and  apple  orchards  to  care 
for.  Ivan  and  his  family  owned  droves  of  cattle 
230 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

and  flocks  of  sheep,  herds  of  pigs  and  goats,  and 
a  whole  farmyard  full  of  poultry.  From  the  eldest 
to  the  youngest  there  was  always  some  work  expected 
of  the  members  of  the  family  ;  and  even  when  the 
barns  were  full  of  grain  and  fodder,  and  the  coming 
on  of  the  winter  cold  and  snow  made  work  on  the 
land  an  impossibility,  there  was  wood  to  cut  and  fetch 
in,  hams  to  salt  and  pork  to  dry,  thatching  to  renew  or 
hedges  to  look  to,  while  indoors — well,  I  could  hardly 
tell  you  of  all  the  things  that  had  to  be  done  there. 

There  are  not  many  towns  in  Serbia,  and  in  the 
particular  part  of  the  country  where  Stefan's  grand- 
father lived  they  are  very  few  indeed  ;  so  of  course 
there  are  few  shops,  and  people  have  to  learn  to  make 
many  things  for  themselves  which,  I  suppose,  they 
would  simply  buy  if  there  happened  to  be  a  shop  full 
of  them  near  at  hand. 

If  one  of  Stefan's  uncles  wanted  to  go  fishing  in  the 
river,  for  instance,  he  would  make  his  own  fishing- 
rod  and  fisherman's  basket,  or  if  he  wanted  a  sledge 
to  bring  the  wood  down  from  the  forest  he  would 
have  to  be  his  own  carpenter. 

In  the  winter  evenings,  when  the  cold  winds  blew 
down  from  the  mountains  and  the  snow  made  the 
forests  look  like  Fairyland,  all  the  married  sons  would 
go  into  their  own  houses  and  sit  with  their  families 
at  work.  The  women  knitted  gay  stockings  for  their 
children,  or  wove  the  home-spun  flax  into  linen, 
from  which  they  would  make  the  clothing  for  the 
family;  and  the  little  ones  knitted  too,  or  wove 
osiers  into  baskets,  to  hold  the  thousand  and  one 
odds  and  ends  of  the  home. 

231 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

Even  when  the  girls  were  quite  little  their  mothers 
would  teach  them  to  spin  and  weave,  or  to  make 
the  fine  rugs  which  the  more  wealthy  Serb  peasant 
likes  to  hang  upon  his  walls. 

Thus,  with  so  many  tasks  to  keep  the  hands  busy 
and  the  mind  occupied,  it  was  small  wonder  if 
Stefan's  absence  was  felt  less  than  would  have  been 
the  case  in  an  English  home.  You  must  not  imagine 
that  they  were  not  all  fond  of  him — it  was  not  that 
at  all,  but  the  days  just  slipped  by  because  they  were 
so  brimful  of  work  and  play  that  there  was  little 
time  for  thinking  in  them. 

Autumn  days  lengthened  into  winter,  and  the 
snow  came  and  hard  frosts.  The  wolves  came  down 
from  the  mountains,  and  there  were  great  wolf- 
hunts,  in  which  Stefan's  uncles  all  joined.  At  night 
the  doors  were  tightly  shut  to  keep  out  the  cold 
winds,  and  great  logs  cut  that  year  from  the  woods 
blazed  on  the  open  hearth.  The  men  were  kept  busy 
dragging  wood  down  from  the  forests  in  rough  sledges, 
and  when  the  high  winds  and  heavy  snows  worked 
destruction  in  the  thatched  roofs  they  would  spend 
laborious  days  mending  and  lashing,  till  all  was 
sound  and  weather-tight  again.  The  streams  were 
frozen  hard,  and  it  was  difficult  work  for  the  women 
to  wash  the  clothes  for  their  families,  since  the  water 
froze  on  their  hands  even  as  they  were  working. 

Christmas,  with  all  its  feasting  and  gaiety,  came 
and  went,  and  as  usual  old  Ivan's  roast  pigs  were 
the  finest  and  plumpest  in  the  village,  while  Grand- 
mother Radovitch's  wheaten  cakes  were  in  great 
request. 
232 


The  cold  winds  blew  down  from  the  mountains 


WILLIAM  SEWELL 


232 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

That  first  winter  after  Stefan's  departure  was  a 
very  long  and  a  very  cold  one,  and  the  household 
was  quite  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  the 
heavy  snows  that  blocked  the  roads.  Often  there 
would  be  talk  of  Stefan,  wonderings  about  him,  and 
questionings  as  to  how  news  would  first  come. 

But  it  was  not  till  spring  made  the  orchards  gay 
with  fruit  blossom  and  the  meadows  bright  with 
early  flowers  that  his  first  letter  arrived.  It  was 
brought  by  a  neighbour  who  had  ridden  over  to 
Leskovats,  and  it  was  read  aloud  to  the  whole  family 
by  young  Marko,  who  was  such  a  clever  scholar. 
What  a  fine  letter  it  was  too  !— telling  them  of  the 
big  school  to  which  Peter  Diviner  had  sent  him, 
all  about  the  funny  ways  of  life  in  Paris,  how  he 
studied  in  a  big  '  studio '  where  a  great  master  taught 
the  pupils  how  to  carve  from  marble  beautiful  figures 
of  man  or  beast,  and  of  many  other  wonderful 
things. 

Stefan's  letter  told  them  how  he  missed  them  all, 
but  it  also  showed  them  how  happy  he  was  with 
Peter  Diviner,  and  Grandmother  nodded  her  head 
happily  as  the  reading  went  on.  "  The  boy  is  in 
good  hands,"  she  said,  "  and  some  day  he  will  come 
back  to  us." 

Of  course  some  of  the  things  Stefan  tried  to  describe 
sounded  like  incidents  from  fairy  stories,  though  they 
were  just  part  of  the  everyday  life  of  a  little  French 
boy  ;  but  one  does  not  have  motor-cars  and  tele- 
phones in  a  little  mountain  farm  of  Serbia,  and 
naturally  it  was  rather  difficult  for  them  to  under- 
stand how  carriages  could  run  along  without  horses 

233 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

or  oxen,  and  how  one  could  talk  to  a  friend  miles 
away  through  a  little  tube  ! 

It  was  Marko  who  wrote  the  letter  in  reply,  and 
of  course  he  put  all  the  news  in  that  he  could  possibly 
think  of.  Stefan  got  the  letter  one  sunny  day  in 
Paris  as  he  was  sitting  on  the  wide  window-seat  of 
Peter  Diviner's  studio,  high  up  above  the  street,  and 
looking  down  on  the  gay,  sunshiny  world.  He  was 
munching  a  savoury  roll  with  great  appetite,  for  he  had 
been  at  Monsieur  Canier's  studio  working  the  whole 
morning  and  he  was  feeling  very  pleased  with  life. 

You  can  judge  of  his  surprise  and  delight  when 
the  letter  was  handed  to  him.  He  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  excitedly  began  to  read  what  was 
written  in  Marko's  funny  scratchy  handwriting. 
And  straightway  Paris  and  all  its  interests  went  out 
of  his  mind,  till  only  Serbia  was  left — Serbia  with  its 
mountains  and  sparkling  rivers,  the  Serbia  that  he 
knew,  its  hill-sides  clothed  in  green  of  oak-leaf  and 
satin-grey  of  beech-bole.  The  thatched  roofs  over 
the  whitewashed  walls ;  the  herds  of  goats  with 
their  tinkling  bells ;  the  drowsy,  slow-moving  oxen 
drawing  the  creaking  carts  ;  the  old  sows  rooting 
for  acorns  in  the  forests,  while  their  young  ones 
squealed  and  raced  around  them  ;  the  yellow  fluffy 
ducklings  and  chicks  following  anxious,  broody 
mothers  about  the  farmyard — all  the  little  pictures 
of  his  young  life  came  before  his  eyes  as  if  they  had 
been  painted  on  one  of  Peter  Diviner's  canvases. 

He  could  hear  again  the  creak  of  the  handle  as  they 
drew  water  from  the  old  well  in  the  courtyard,  smell 
the  primroses  under  the  ferns  on  the  river-banks, 

234 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

and  see  the  water  foaming  over  the  stones  where  the 
women  pounded  the  clothes  on  sunny  days.  He 
could  feel  the  soft  wind  blowing  across  his  face, 
and  hear  the  gipsy  fiddler  playing  for  some  kolo 
dance  on  the  green  grass.  Oh,  what  a  home-sick  little 
boy  was  Stefan  that  day  !  And  for  a  few  days  he 
fretted  for  his  own  country,  till  Peter  Diviner  really 
began  to  wonder  whether  he  had  done  wisely  in 
bringing  him  away. 

Up  to  that  time  he  had  been  perfectly  happy, 
learning  his  lessons,  picking  up  French  and  English 
like  a  little  parrot,  helping  to  prepare  the  simple 
studio  meals,  or  enjoying  the  restaurants  which  the 
artist  frequented. 

And  as  for  his  work — even  Peter  was  astonished 
at  the  rate  at  which  he  made  progress.  The  great 
sculptor  who  had  consented  to  take  him  as  a  pupil 
was  as  pleased  with  his  industry  as  he  was  surprised 
by  the  undoubted  gifts  he  possessed ;  and  though 
he  never  praised  his  pupils  openly,  yet  to  Peter  he 
admitted  that  there  were  in  Stefan  the  possibilities 
of  a  master. 

And  little  by  little,  among  the  wonderful  sur- 
roundings of  his  new  life,  Stefan  had  been  growing 
a  trifle  forgetful  of  his  own  country  and  his  own 
people. 

But  after  Marko's  letter  came  things  were  different. 
He  soon  settled  down  happily  once  more  to  his  life 
with  Peter,  but  never  again  did  his  own  people  and 
his  own  country  take  second  place  in  his  thoughts. 

And  that  was  why,  when  Stefan  in  after  years 
became  a  famous  sculptor,  people  spoke  of  his  work 

235 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

as  having  in  it  the  true  Serbian  spirit  :  the  love  of  his 
country  and  of  her  wonderful  history  had  become  so 
essentially  a  part  of  himself  that  everything  he  did 
spoke  of  his  native  land. 

After  that  he  wrote  often  to  Marko,  and  now  and 
then  letters  would  come  back.  Stefan  did  not  expect 
them  very  often,  because  they  were  so  busy  always, 
those  Radovitches  !  Marko  would  write  saying 
something  like  this  : 

DEAR  COUSIN  STEFAN, 

The  grapes  were  good  this  year,  and  we  have  made  much 
wine,  but  the  vineyards  on  the  hill  behind  the  plum  orchard  have 
done  badly.  There  must  be  new  vines.  My  father  has  sold  many 
pigs  this  year,  and  there  is  a  fine  fat  one  to  go  on  the  spit  to-morrow. 

Yesterday  we  went  to  do  moba  at  the  house  of  the  widow  Yanko- 
vitch. 

I  must  tell  you  what  moba  is.  In  Serbia  they 
have  a  good  old  tradition  which  insists  that  a  big 
household  where  there  are  many  hands  to  make 
work  light  shall  go  to  the  help  of  a  small  one  to  aid 
with  the  planting  or  the  harvesting  of  the  crop. 

In  the  village  where  Grandfather  Radovitch  was 
Stareslrina  there  were  several  widows,  and  every 
year  the  whole  clan  turned  out  to  help  them.  All 
day  long  they  would  work  in  the  fields,  laughing 
and  singing,  often  with  music  from  a  passing  gipsy 
to  help  them  on  their  way.  At  evening,  work  over, 
every  one  trooped  into  the  widow's  courtyard,  and 
there  she  would  wait  at  the  threshold  with  water 
and  towels  for  her  guests.  Then  she  would  light 
a  wax  candle,  and  carrying  it  round  before  the 
assembled  guests  she  would  place  it  on  the  wall- 
236 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

bracket  under  the  picture  of  her  patron  saint. 
Reverently  then  would  they  all  pray  for  success  on 
another  year's  harvest,  their  faces  turned  toward 
the  burning  candle.  The  prayer  over,  every  one 
sat  down  to  a  good  supper,  and  afterward  came  music 
and  dancing. 

So  time  slipped  by  very  quickly  at  the  Radovitch 
farm,  and  inevitably  Stefan  began  to  fade  a  little 
from  the  thoughts  of  his  people,  since  he  was  no 
longer  a  part  of  their  busy  daily  life. 

Now  it  came  to  be  time  for  Dragootin,  who  was 
the  cousin  next  in  age  to  Stefan,  and  son  of  Andreas, 
the  third  son  of  old  Ivan,  to  be  married.  His  bride 
had  been  chosen  for  him  by  his  father  from  a  village 
some  twenty  kilometres  away.  Dragootin  was  a 
big,  sturdy  fellow,  with  brown  eyes  and  a  laughing 
mouth — indeed,  he  was  always  making  jokes  and  fun 
of  some  kind  or  other. 

He  was  a  great  favourite  among  the  other  lads, 
because  he  was  such  a  good  rider  and  a  splendid  shot. 
Moreover,  he  was  the  best  dancer  in  the  village. 
So  it  was  no  wonder  that  on  his  wedding  morning 
there  was  quite  a  crowd  of  friends  and  relations 
ready  to  do  him  honour  and  form  part  of  the  bridal 
procession,  and  to  keep  up  the  old  customs  as  well 
as  they  might. 

It  was  a  glorious  summer  day,  the  sky  brilliantly 
blue,  and  all  the  gardens  full  of  flowers.  Almost 
as  soon  as  it  was  daylight  the  guests  had  begun  to 
arrive,  and  the  courtyard  was  full  of  horses,  their 
heads  ornamented  with  flowers,  and  with  coloured 
handkerchiefs  or  embroidered  hand-towels  behind 

237 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

their  ears.  Every  one  was  very  gay,  drinking 
Dragootin's  health  in  red  wine  and  making  jokes 
and  laughter.  As  is  the  custom  in  Serbia,  the 
bridegroom  had  to  ride  to  the  bride's  village  to  fetch 
her  home,  accompanied  by  his  friends. 

"  Are  we  all  ready  to  start  ?  '  said  Andreas, 
coming  out  of  the  house,  his  wife  following  him  with 
a  big  bottle  of  their  very  best  wine  for  Dragootin's 
stirrup-cup.  "  Surely  we  shall  be  late,  for  the  sun 
is  already  high.'' 

"  Wait  till  the  Room  has  finished,"  said  Dragootin's 
mother.  "  See,  he  .is  giving  out  the  powder  for  the 
pistols — you  would  not  have  our  boy  go  off  without 
a  really  fine  salute,  and  let  our  neighbours  think  that 
we  had  no  pride  in  the  marriage  ?  There  is  plenty 
of  powder  and  plenty  of  time,  but  men  are  always 
in  a  hurry." 

Up  came  the  Koom  at  this  moment  and  handed 
some  powder  to  Andreas,  who  took  it  without  saying 
any  more — he  was  rather  a  silent  man  as  a  rule. 
The  Koom  is  a  very  important  person  at  a  Serbian 
wedding,  and  he  is  generally  the  son  of  the  man  who 
was  Koom  to  the  parent  of  the  bridegroom.  He  has 
to  witness  the  wedding  in  the  church,  to  pay  for  the 
gipsy  musicians  who  play  all  day  long  for  the  wedding 
guests,  and  it  is  his  duty  to  provide  plenty  of  gun- 
powder, so  that  there  is  much  pistol  firing — no  Serbian 
festivities  would  be  complete  without  a  great  deal 
of  such  noise  ! 

Dragootin  was  getting  rather  impatient,  and  he  was 
glad  when  the  procession  began  to  form  up  and  he 
could  take  his  place  in  it. 

238 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

At  the  head  of  the  wedding  party  rode  the  Chutura- 
bearer,  who  carried  the  chutura — a  flat  wooden  vessel 
filled  with  red  wine  and  decorated  with  embroidered 
towels  and  silver  coins  which  the  wedding  guests 
presented  to  him  when  he  brought  them  their 
invitation.  He  must  ride  on  horseback  and  carry 
the  chutura  without  spilling  any  of  the  red  wine, 
and  whoever  he  meets  on  the  road  to  the  wedding 
must  be  offered  some  of  the  wine.  He  is  a  kind  of 
court  jester  too,  for  the  day,  and  makes  funny  remarks 
all  the  time  about  everybody  and  everything. 

Next  after  the  Chutura  rode  the  standard-bearer 
and  the  Voyvoda,  or  leader,  whose  orders  all  the 
wedding  guests  have  to  obey  while  on  the  journey. 
Then  came  a  carriage  drawn  by  two  horses,  and  in 
the  carriage  rode  the  bridesmaids,  carrying  flowers 
and  the  wedding  dress,  which  the  bridegroom's 
father  had  bought  for  the  bride.  Next  came 
Dragootin,  in  his. best  clothes,  with  a  fine  embroidered 
shirt  and  a  velvet  waistcoat,  a  gay  flower  stuck  be- 
hind his  ear,  and  a  pair  of  really  beautiful  boots. 
On  his  right  hand  rode  the  Room,  and  on  his  left  the 
Stari  Svat,  who  is  the  second  witness  to  the  wedding, 
and  who  stands  behind  the  bride  in  the  church  while 
the  Room  takes  up  his  place  behind  the  bridegroom. 

After  these  there  came  all  the  other  relatives  and 
guests,  riding  two  and  two,  and  Dragootin  had  so 
many  people  to  see  him  married  that  I  can  hardly 
tell  you  the  length  of  the  procession  ! 

All  the  way  along  the  road  the  wedding  guests 
sang  and  made  jokes.  It  really  was  a  very  happy 
party,  and  the  ride  almost  too  short. 

239 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

When  they  came  to  the  courtyard  gate  of  the 
bride's  home  they  found  it  closed,  as  is  the  custom, 
and  they  could  not  be  admitted  till  some  of  them 
had  fired  at  a  pot  fastened  to  the  highest  branch  of 
the  highest  tree  in  the  courtyard.  Dragootin  him- 
self fired  the  lucky  shot,  and  the  pot  fell  shattered 
to  pieces.  Then  the  gates  were  flung  open  ;  there 
was  a  firing  of  pistols  in  welcome,  a  squealing  of 
bagpipes,  and  a  scraping  of  violins — altogether  quite 
one  of  the  j  oiliest  welcomes  it  is  possible  to  imagine. 

The  whole  party  trooped  gaily  in,  dismounted, 
and  were  led  by  the  bride's  relatives  to  the  tables, 
which  groaned  under  the  weight  of  roast  lamb  and 
roast  pig,  ducks  and  geese,  cakes,  and  white  and  red 
wine. 

In  one  of  the  wooden  houses  in  the  courtyard  the 
bride  was  waiting,  and  the  bridesmaids  went  in  to 
her  to  robe  her  in  her  fine  wedding  dress,  to  put 
flowers  in  her  hair  and  her  necklace  of  silver  coins 
round  her  neck.  When  she  was  quite  ready  her 
eldest  brother  came  to  the  door  of  the  house  and  led 
her  out  by  the  hand.  As  she  stepped  out  she  was 
greeted  by  a  lively  fire  from  the  rifles  and  pistols  of 
Dragootin's  friends,  and  her  bridesmaids  held  up  be- 
fore her  eyes  a  little  wreath  made  of  sweet  basil  and 
some  other  flowers,  because  it  is  considered  lucky 
that  she  should  first  see  her  bridegroom  on  her 
wedding  day  looking  through  this  wreath. 

After  that  her  brother  led  her  round  to  kiss  the 
hands  of  the  guests,  beginning  with  the  Room  and 
the  Stari  Svat,  and  when  that  was  over  her  brother 
led  her  to  the  kitchen,  where  in  front  of  the  hearth, 
240 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

on  which  a  bright  fire  was  burning,  her  father  and 
mother  sat  in  low  wooden  chairs.  Pretty  Yelitsa 
kissed  the  hand  of  each  of  her  parents,  then  bowed 
very,  very  low  before  the  hearth,  and  kissed  the  earth 
in  front  of  it.  This  is  to  symbolize  the  sacredness 
of  family  life  and  the  hearth  as  the  centre  of  it. 
Rising  up  she  bowed  deeply  before  her  father  and 
mother,  who  embraced  her  fondly  and  gave  her  their 
blessing.  Then  her  brother  handed  her  over  to  the 
care  of  the  Dever  y  or  bride-leader,  who  has  to  conduct 
the  bride  through  the  rest  of  the  ceremonies  of  the 
day. 

Now  it  was  time  for  the  party  to  start  for  the 
church,  so  every  one  mounted  again  and,  firing 
diligently  with  their  pistols  and  rifles,  started  in 
procession  once  more,  Yelitsa  riding  next  to  the 
Dever. 

The  wedding  ceremony,  in  the  domed  church  on 
the  hill,  did  not  take  very  long,  and  when  next  the 
procession  of  wedding  guests  halted  it  was  at  the  old 
Radovitch  homestead. 

The  Dever  lifted  Yelitsa  from  her  horse,  being 
careful  that  she  should  set  her  right  foot  on  a  sack 
of  oats  which  had  been  placed  before  the  gate. 
From  the  sack  she  had  to  step  on  a  plough,  and  from 
the  plough  to  the  threshold  of  the  gate. 

Here  Aunt  Anka  was  waiting  for  her  with  her 
baby  boy  in  her  arms.  Yelitsa  took  the  child  in  her 
arms  and  raised  him  as  high  as  she  could,  then  kissed 
him  and  handed  him  back  to  his  mother. 

Next  Dragootin's  little  sister  Maria  stepped  for- 
ward, and  under  each  of  Yelftsa's  arms  she  placed  a 

Q 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

loaf  of  wheaten  bread,  and  in  each  hand  a  bottle 
filled  with  red  wine.  With  these  emblems  of  wealth 
and  prosperity  the  little  bride  crossed  the  threshold 
of  her  new  home. 

In  the  kitchen  Dragootin's  father  and  mother 
were  waiting  for  her,  in  front  of  the  hearth,  on  which 
was  spread,  right  and  left,  burning  wood  and  coal. 
After  she  had  kissed  their  hands,  her  mother-in-law 
led  her  three  times  round  the  hearth,  and  placed  a 
shovel  in  her  hand,  with  which  she  was  to  stoop 
and  gather  into  one  heap  the  scattered  burning  coal. 
Every  bride  coming  into  the  house  must  do  this,  so 
that  her  presence  helps  to  unite  the  family  and 
make  for  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  whole 
zadruga. 

Now  you  can  just  imagine  how  hungry  every  one 
was  after  the  long  ride,  and  when  Yelitsa  stepped 
out  of  the  kitchen  with  her  hand  in  that  of  her 
mother-in-law  there  was  a  shout  of  welcome  from 
the  wedding  guests,  who  were  already  seated  round 
the  long  tables  in  the  courtyard.  The  Room  pre- 
sided over  one  table,  and  the  Stan  Svat  over  the 
other,  but  Yelitsa  had  to  stand  with  the  Dever  all 
through  the  banquet,  and  opposite  her  was  the 
CAw/wra-bearer. 

But  before  they  could  begin  the  wedding  feast 
one  of  Yelitsa's  sisters  came  shyly  forward,  bearing 
presents  in  her  arms  for  all  the  guests,  and  as  she 
gave  them  round  the  Chutura-bearer  kept  up  a 
running  fire  of  remarks  about  them,  so  that  he  kept 
both  of  the  tables  in  roars  of  laughter. 

Then  the  feast  began,  and  even  here  the  Chutura 
242 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

man  made  jokes  about  the  provisions,  which  every 
guest  had  brought  to  the  party  as  his  contribution. 
By  a  useful  old  custom  in  Serbia,  where  many  guests 
are  present  at  a  wedding-feast  every  guest  brings 
something  to  help  out  the  good  cheer.  So  some  had 
brought  red  wine  and  others  white,  some  had  brought 
a  cheese  and  others  a  roast  kid,  till  the  tables  simply 
groaned  under  the  weight  of  it  all ! 

The  Chutura-bearer  made  fun  of  everything  and 
every  one,  but  nobody  minded,  because  it  was  just 
the  custom. 

"  Here,"  he  would  say,  "  is  our  rich  friend  Lovro 
Tankossitch.  Who  would  have  thought  that  the 
chicken  which  he  has  brought  for  the  feast  had  ever 
been  a  tiny  bird  running  beside  its  mother — I  think 
rather  that  it  died  last  week  just  of  old  age.  And 
here  is  the  gift  of  our  rich  farmer  Dobrinko  Yesitch  : 
one  would  have  imagined  that  a  roast  pig  would 
have  been  his  idea  of  a  nice  present  for  the  bride  ; 
but  no — he  thought  a  better  one  would  be  a  cheese. 
And  such  a  cheese  !  I  beg  of  you  to  notice  it  well — 
you  can  tell  it  by  the  smell ;  but  you  must  watch 
it  carefully,  for  it  is  such  a  clever  cheese  that  if  you 
are  not  keeping  both  eyes  on  it  it  may  walk  right  off 
the  table." 

"  And  here,"  he  continued,  "  is  a  bottle  of  red  wine, 
brought  by  our  friend  Radovan,  who  had  used  up 
all  the  vinegar  in  his  big  vinegar  bottle,  so  thought 
he  would  just  use  some  of  the  last  year's  vintage 
instead  ;  and  now  he  is  not  quite  sure  whether  it  is 
vinegar  or  wine  he  has  brought  to  the  banquet ;  but 
we  shall  soon  see  by  the  faces  the  guests  will  make." 

243 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

And  so  on,  about  everything  on  the  table,  till 
every  one's  gift  had  been  described  in  this  funny  way. 

So  the  merry  feast  went  on.  There  was  singing 
and  jesting,  and  the  gipsy  players  fiddled  their 
hardest. 

Suddenly  down  the  road  came  the  sound  of  hoofs, 
of  a  horse  galloping  in  hot  haste,  and  the  voice  of  his 
rider  could  be  plainly  heard  urging  him  on  :  "  Go, 
good  Velko — do  not  let  your  hoofs  touch  the  ground, 
or  I  shall  be  too  late  for  the  wedding  feast."  Every 
one  looked  up  in  amazement,  for  all  the  invited  guests 
were  here,  sitting  round  the  tables.  Who  was  this 
guest  coming  unbidden  to  the  feast  ? 

Dragootin's  father  and  his  two  uncles  rose  from 
their  seats  and  hurried  to  the  gates  of  the  courtyard. 
The  next  minute  they  returned  to  the  astonished 
company  leading  a  stranger,  a  tall  youth  dressed  in 
black  European  clothes,  just  like  the  mayor  of  the 
village,  only  without  his  velvet  coat. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  ?  "  cried  the  new-comer. 
"  Why,  uncles  and  Dragootin,  do  you  not  know  little 
Stefan,  your  little  Stefan,  who  has  ridden  all  the  way 
to  be  here  in  time  for  the  wedding  feast  ?  ' 

There  was  silence  for  a  second — scarcely  anyone 
could  recognize  in  this  grand  stranger,  so  tall,  so 
straight  (and  oh,  so  handsome,  as  all  the  guests 
whispered  admiringly  to  each  other),  the  little 
boy  who  had  gone  across  the  sea  five  long  years 
ago  ! 

But  Grandmother   Radovitch  hurried  across  the 
courtyard,  and  put  her  arms  tight  round  the  stranger's 
neck,  for  she  could  not  make  any  mistake  ! 
244 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

Then  there  was  a  shout  of  welcome !  Such 
embracing  and  salutations  !  And  Stefan  must  sit 
down  in  his  fine  broadcloth  suit  at  the  place  of 
honour  among  the  guests,  and  drink  the  health  of 
his  cousin  in  red  wine  and  white ;  and  the  pretty 
bride  must  come  and  kiss  his  hand  shyly. 

Then  Stefan  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  box  and 
opened  it,  and  inside  was  the  finest  brooch  that 
anyone  there  had  ever  seerfe— all  sparkling  gems  and 
fine  gold ;  for  you  must  not  think  that  Stefan  had 
come  back  empty-handed. 

"  My  cousin  Dragootin  will  let  me  place  this  on 
his  bride's  wedding  bodice/'  he  said;  "for  though 
I  did  not  know  till  I  came  to  the  village  of  Luditsa 
that  my  cousin  here  was  to  be  married,  yet  am 
I  happy  not  to  have  come  without  a  little  bride- 
gift/' 

Then  there  was  another  shout  of  "  Welcome  home 
again,  Stefan  !  "  and  all  his  cousins  crowded  round 
to  hear  him  talk  of  his  wonderful  life  in  far-away 
France — of  how  he  worked  in  the  studio  learning  his 
art  under  a  great  master ;  of  Peter  Diviner  and  his 
goodness  to  the  Serb  boy ;  of  the  big  streets  and  the 
crowded  cafes  ;  of  the  house  where  he  and  Peter  lived 
and  worked ;  of  the  studio  cat  Mimi  and  her  Persian 
kittens ;  of  the  other  boys  who  went  with  him  to  the 
big  school  at  night  to  learn  all  manner  of  things ; 
of  wonderful  music  he  had  heard,  and  wonderful 
plays  he  had  seen.  On  and  on  went  the  story,  and 
all  the  wedding  guests  clustered  close  round  him  to 
hear  all  he  had  to  say. 

Never  very  far  from  Stefan  was   his  proud   old 

245 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

grandmother,  not  very  much  changed  in  these  five 
years,  and  his  grandfather  Ivan,  whose  fine  white 
beard  was  perhaps  a  little  whiter,  but  that  was  all. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  now,  Stefan  ?  "  asked  one 
of  his  uncles.  "  Have  you  forgotten  how  to  herd  the 
cattle  and  tend  the  vines  ?  There  will  not  be  many 
vineyards  in  Paris,  I  should  think/' 

"  There  is  talk  of  my  learning  more/'  answered 
Stefan  modestly.  "  See  you,  Uncle,  I  have  won 
a  great  prize — they  call  it  the  Prize  of  Rome,  and 
the  young  artist  who  wins  this  honour  may  go  to 
Rome  itself,  and  there  study  among  the  greatest 
works  of  the  world." 

"  And  thou  hast  won  this  prize  ?  'Tis  an  honour 
indeed  !  "  said  his  grandmother  proudly. 

"  Yes;  and  moreover  now  the  good  Peter  Diviner 
will  be  at  no  charge  for  thee,"  added  his  grandfather 
shrewdly;  "  and  that  is  good — my  grandson  is  not 
a  pauper  that  one  should  always  be  at  expense  for 
him.  But  the  good  Peter  Diviner  would  not  permit 
when  he  took  thee  away  that  any  but  he  should 
bear  the  cost  of  all  thy  learning.  Good,  very  good, 
O  Stefan  !  " 

"  And  when  I  have  learnt  still  more  in  Rome/' 
went  on  Stefan  eagerly,  "  I  shall  make  fine  statues, 
and  people  will  buy  them — they  have  already  bought 
some  small  things  that  I  have  made  with  my  hands, 
where  they  were  sent  with  certain  others  to  the  great 
Exhibition.  And  then  every  one  I  know  shall  have 
gifts  worthy  of  them.  But  you  shall  see  my  bag, 
what  it  holds  of  gifts,  Grandmother/' 

"  Afterward,  my  boy,"  she  laughed.  "  We  must 
246 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

not  forget,  in  the  joy  of  thy  home-coming,  that  our 
guests  are  waiting  to  dance  kolo." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  how  to  dance  kolo  ?  "  laughed 
Stefan's  cousins. 

"  Bid  them  play  '  Igralka  Kolo/  and  all  shall 
see  if  I  have  forgotten  kolo,"  answered  Stefan,  with  a 
big  smile  on  his  face. 

And  as  the  gipsies  struck  up  the  tune  he  linked 
arms  with  one  of  his  young  cousins  and  soon  was 
dancing  away  with  the  best  of  them.  Dragootin 
drew  his  bride  into  another  circle,  and  soon  every 
one  was  dancing,  till  at  last  the  sun  fell  low  and 
the  big  bonfires  were  lighted  in  the  courtyard.  And 
still  they  danced,  leaping  right  across  the  flames, 
which  lit  up  the  brown  faces  and  gay  costumes ; 
danced  till  the  supper-tables  were  once  more  groan- 
ing under  the  weight  of  more  good  things ;  danced 
after  the  good  things  were  all  consumed,  and  all  the 
red  wine  had  been  drunk  ;  danced  until  the  harvest 
moon  lit  up  the  sky  with  a  silver  radiance ;  and  at 
last  the  wedding  guests  danced  their  way  right  out 
of  the  courtyard  and  up  the  long,  quiet  road,  white 
under  the  moonshine,  till  they  reached  their  homes 
in  the  village  and  the  sound  of  their  laughing  voices 
faded  into  the  distance. 

Then  Dragootin  drew  his  bride  into  their  new 
home,  and  Stefan  went  back  to  the  old  kitchen  with 
his  grandfather  and  grandmother.  Over  the  fire 
they  talked  and  talked,  till  the  two  old  people  were 
tired  and  glad  to  go  to  bed.  But  Stefan  was  not  in 
the  mood  for  sleep,  and  he  opened  the  house  door 
and  stood  looking  out  at  the  moonlight. 

247 


TALES  OF  SERBIAN  LIFE 

All  was  quiet  at  last — there  were  no  lights  in  any 
of  the  wooden  houses  round  the  courtyard,  where 
his  uncles  and  aunts  lived  with  their  children  a 
peaceful,  happy  family  life.  The  moon  shone  full 
on  the  white,  empty  road  and  cast  shadows  down 
from  the  walnut-trees.  Only  the  frogs  were  awake, 
croaking  companionably  in  a  little  pond  hard  by. 

Stefan  stepped  out  of  the  house  and  went  softly 
down  the  wooden  steps.  He  pushed  open  the  court- 
yard gate  and  walked  out  into  the  road.  He  had 
changed  his  fine  clothes  for  a  suit  of  homespun,  and 
his  feet  went  softly  in  the  opanke  of  his  boyhood's 
days. 

Every  inch  of  him  was  savouring  the  home  smells 
and  the  home  sounds,  and  his  eyes  were  bright  as  he 
wandered  slowly  down  the  road.  And  as  he  walked, 
his  feet  making  no  sound  in  the  white  dust,  it  seemed 
as  though  the  past  five  years  had  slipped  away 
from  him  and  he  was  just  a  little  peasant  boy  again, 
herding  the  goats  on  the  mountain-side,  and  dancing 
kolo  in  the  summer  days  with  the  other  boys. 

He  remembered  with  pleasure  how  the  Serb  voices 
had  sounded  that  day  in  the  old  familiar  tongue- 
he  could  taste  again  the  maize  bread  and  smell  the 
fiery  rakija  on  the  table  of  the  wedding  feast. 

Nothing  had  changed  in  that  quiet  life — every- 
thing was  just  the  same,  and  always  would  be. 

"  Ah,  -it's  good  to  be  in  a  man's  home  again,'1 
said  Stefan  contentedly  to  himself,  "  and  that  was 
a  famous  wedding  that  we  had  to-day.  But  if  I 
stay  here  they  will  marry  me  too,  and  then  what 
about  the  Prix  de  Rome  ?  I  think  really  it  will  be 
248 


STEFAN  THE  COWHERD 

best  for  me  to  go  back  to  my  Peter  and  my  little 
carven  figures/' 

And  with  a  contented  little  grunt  he  went  sleepily 
back  to  the  house,  and  soon  was  fast  asleep  under 
the  moonshine. 

And  did  Stefan  stay  in  the  village  ?  Well,  no,  I 
am  afraid  not.  There  was  much  work  for  him  to 
do,  and  he  would  not  have  been  the  great  sculptor 
he  afterward  became  if  he  had  not  wanted  to  do  it. 

Yet  he  often  came  back — to  put  on  the  brown 
homespun  and  the  leather  sandals,  to  eat  the  goat's- 
milk  cheese  and  drink  the  thin  red  wine,  to  dance 
kolo  on  the  green,  and  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  the 
grandfather  and  grandmother  by  his  cheery  voice. 

So  long  as  Stefan  lived  the  love  of  Serbia  was 
always  strong  in  his  heart ;  nothing  came  between— 
neither  fame  nor  wealth  nor  work  nor  pleasure. 

And  the  statue  by  which  he  is  best  known  is  the 
beautiful  one  of  a  young  peasant  boy  with  one  arm 
thrown  round  the  neck  of  a  goat.  And  here  I  will 
let  you  into  a  secret.  The  boy  was  Stefan  and  the 
goat  was  Zita,  and  the  goat  was  copied  from  the 
tiny  figure  in  red  clay  which  long  years  before 
Stefan  had  modelled  on  the  hill-side  as  he  lay  watch- 
ing the  herd,  and  which  Peter  Diviner  had  seen  on 
that  sunny  day  which  first  made  them  friends. 


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tftrj  lo  |y5j 

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